


Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

by jadebrycin2116



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Beacon Hills, Boarding School, Cheating, Drugs, F/F, F/M, High School, M/M, Multi, No Werewolves, Prep School, School, Sex, Teen Wolf, brittany blackwood played by britt robertson, celebrity stiles, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadebrycin2116/pseuds/jadebrycin2116
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski—<i>teen heart throb, socialite, and son of Academy Award winning actor/director John Stilinski</i>—had a promising future in the acting business before things got out of hand. He’d always been a little <i>spoiled</i> and kind of <i>reckless</i>…and definitely had a mouth on him; but his father never thought he would get caught up in the Hollywood lifestyle of drugs and alcohol, <i>especially after Claudia</i>. Stiles doesn’t think he has a problem. John blames his new, overrated girlfriend, Brittany Blackwood, for the downward spiral his son is on. So after a forced stint in rehab, John Stilinski sends his son to the one place where can live a normal seventeen year old life and stay out of trouble…<i>high school</i>. </p><p>Specifically Beacon Hills Preparatory High School—<i>a boarding school in the middle of fucking nowhere</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fortune for your Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> based on an AU post from tumblr
> 
> sorry if things seem a little ooc at first, i just needed to establish some background for the au
> 
>  http://the-banshee-and-the-bad-boy.tumblr.com/post/79925259132/dont-you-know-who-i-think-i-am-on-ao3-teen 
> 
> _**even though Brittany Blackwood is portrayed by Britt Robertson, this is not what i actually think about her. I am sure she is a nice girl, i just needed the character and she was in the pictures_

_“This is bullshit_ ,” Stiles says staring at his father from across the table that morning at breakfast. He’s nursing a hot mug of coffee, the first _good_ cup of coffee, he’s had in months. He hates the store brand, crap he’d been forced to drink the last few weeks so much.

“It’s for your own good.”  

“My own good? Are you kidding me?” He takes a second to stare back down at the brochure on the table, as if maybe the content has changed in the last five minutes. “I thought this whole ‘ _punishment_ ’ thing was done after I agreed to go to rehab? You never said anything about _this_!”

John Stilinski continues to calmly salt his eggs as if his son isn’t throwing a mini tantrum across from him. After so much time, he learned it was better to save his yelling and real anger, for when it was important. If had got mad every time Stiles was upset, he’d be miserable. “You didn’t _agree_ to anything Stiles. I had to very publically _force_ you to go to rehab, against your will.” 

He still remembers that day vividly. It was every bit as terrifying as it was humiliating. He remembers being on set late one night when he got the call from the hospital—there had been an accident. His teenage son, twice over the legal alcohol limit and higher than a fucking kite, had run John’s antique Porsche into a tree…which honestly he had been thankful for. Had Stiles run into another car, things would have been a lot worse comparatively. Sure, Stiles had suffered a broken clavicle bone and needed stitches for a gash on his forearm, but no real life threatening injuries thank God.

For John, it had been the last straw. There would be no more late night partying. Stiles’ streak of drug and alcohol binges had to stop right then and there. He wasn’t going to watch his son deteriorate the same way he’d seen so many other kids in this business, the way _his wife_ had. He’d made a few phones, signed some papers, and had Stiles admitted to rehab the following night. The media had been all over the story, but it had to be done. If he had anything to say about it, Stiles would not turn out this way.

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have consulted me about this!”  

“Consulted you?” John laughs, “Stiles I’m your father and you’re a seventeen year old boy. I don’t have to consult you on your schooling.”

“So I get absolutely no say in this? Like none, _at all_?” When John shakes his head Stiles shoves his chair away from the table and glares, “I can’t believe this!”

John doesn’t even try and stop him from storming off. Stiles will get used to the idea eventually…and even if he doesn’t, they leave in less than three days so he’d better learn to love it.

XXX

 _Bullshit_ barely even begins to describe what this is, honestly. It was just the best word Stiles could think of at the time.

Boarding school, really? They still had those? People still sent their kids there?  

Just this time last year he was going to clubs and filming movies, now this? He literally hadn’t set foot on a real campus since he was thirteen…unless you couldn’t the sets he had to be on, which he didn’t, not really. Once he’d booked his first real role, it was all tutors and online schooling. Who needed to attend classes when he could make just as much money without a degree, _more_ actually? He’d gotten into one car accident and his father was acting like he’d committed murder or something. 

 _Okay_ , so maybe it had been a stupid idea to try and drive home after taking nine shots of vodka and doing a shit-load of coke…or was it LSD? It didn’t even matter anymore. He’d done his twelve weeks in rehab, spent most of his summer there as a matter of fact. It had sucked, but he was clean now so why wasn’t his dad happy? Why wasn’t that good enough?  

He rummages through the sheets on his bed until he finds his phone lying underneath them. Then he dials the first number that pops into his mind. If anyone will understand how he’s feeling, it’ll be her.

“Hello?” he hears from the other end. The voice is tired, but comforting.

“Hey, _Brittany_?”  

Brittany Blackwood, his girlfriend of about a year and a half, give or take a few weeks. She’s the hottest thing in Hollywood right now and literally the hottest girl Stiles has ever seen. They met filming “The First Time” and were practically inseparable, at least until he went to rehab. She was fun, sexy, care free and he couldn’t get enough. So what if she liked to have a “ _good time”_ every now and then, so did Stiles. What did it hurt if they did it together right? He was pretty sure they were going to get married.

His father on the other hand, hated the girl with almost every fiber in his body. He’d been in this business a long time. He knew the type—the adorable blonde actress with a wild streak. She had no semblance of real talent and no substance once you stripped her of all the make-up, jewelry, and drug induced conversation. Regardless, he’d let them date at first, assuming Stiles would grow out of it…but once her celebrity status went from B to A, it was over. She got caught up in the excitement of it all and dragged his Stiles down with her. There was no stopping it. John had spent years warning his sons about the danger of this God-forsaken city and he’d listened until then, until _her_. She had been the worst thing that ever happened to him.

“Oh hey babe! I’m filming right now, but I’ve got a ten minute break. What’s up?”

He falls back onto his bed with a loud thump and lets out the deep breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. “ _My dad_. He wants me to go back to school, like _real_ school. He already has it picked out and everything. Some boarding school on the opposite end of the state in the middle of nowhere. The nearest real city is like an hour away!”   

“Are you serious? Can he even _do_ that?”

“I mean I guess so, legally.” It is his dad and his is a minor in the eyes of the law, fame or no fame.

“You can’t get emancipated or something?” she asks.

He knows she can’t see him, but he shakes his head anyway. The thought had already crossed his mind. “Doubt it. After that accident no judge in his right mind would actually emancipate me. The only reason they did it for Macaulay Culkin is ‘cause his parents were robbing him blind. My dad hasn’t really done anything to me.”  

Brittany huffs on the other line and he can practically see her rolling her blue eyes.

“Well what are we supposed to do then?” Her tone has completely changed, going from surprised and upset to irritated. Stiles hates it when she gets like this. She’s always had a little attitude on her. 

“What do you mean?”  

“What are you now Stiles, a _junior_? That means you have two years until you graduate. While you’re God knows where I’ll be splitting my time between LA and on location. When are we ever going to see each other?”

“Well I know you haven’t been in school for a while Brittany, but I’m pretty sure they still have breaks.” He can’t help the edge in his voice. It’s just, whenever she gets like this he feels the need to bite back just a little. Generally, she gets her way, but his smart mouth helps him be a little assertive from time to time. 

“So I’m supposed to be satisfied with seeing you for maybe a week every few months, if I’m not busy filming or something? I just had to wait three months for you to get out a rehab and I haven’t gotten to see you yet. Now you tell me you’re leaving again?”

Stiles can feel his patience lessening with each exchange. He wasn’t expecting the conversation to go like this. If he wanted to argue, he would’ve stayed in the kitchen with his dad. “It’s not like this is my choice? I get no say in the matter.”  

“Well I say this is ridiculous! How am I—” she starts before pausing and yelling something Stiles isn’t meant to hear, “Look babe I gotta go. We can talk about this later okay?”

“Alright. I love you,” he sighs, but when he doesn’t get a response, he realizes she’s already hung up on him.

XXX

His day gets no better.

He spends the first half of the morning Googling himself, which is always a bad idea and results in absolutely nothing good. It’s just a bunch of tabloids and blogs talking about his stint in rehab. He sees several lovely pictures of himself getting hauled away from the crash site in an ambulance and even more from at the airport as he was getting whisked away to “Redemption Springs”, the cheesiest name for a rehab center he’s ever heard. People are wondering what he’s doing, if the rehab actually worked, or if he’ll return to movies again now that’s he’s out? Normally, he’d probably do some type of “exclusive” interview with any number of magazines to answer all of these questions at once, but his dad it pretty clear when Stiles got home last night, that there was to be no interviews or anything even mildly Hollywood related. Stiles had argued for Brittany and his father had caved almost too easily. Now that he knows about boarding school, he understands why.  

The second half of his morning is spent looking up Beacon Hills Preparatory school. He would’ve Googled ‘painless ways to kill himself’, but he’s pretty sure his dad will be checking his computer history now to make sure he’s staying clean, as if you could order drugs online or something…well you probably _could_ , but you’d be an idiot if you did. The last thing he needs is tomorrow’s headline to pop up with ‘ _Fresh out of rehab, Stiles Stilinski arrested for trying to solicit drugs off Craigslist_ ’. Even Lindsay Lohan was never _that_ stupid.

Beacon Hills Prep looks awful. The website is full of ridiculously sunny pictures that have probably been photo-shopped. It’s like a page out of some tacky, college, booklet encouraging him to learn in ‘ _unique environments_ ’ and ‘ _diverse settings’_. Please, as if there’s anything unique or diverse about this place. Being in located in the middle of nowhere, California does not make it unique and just because there’s picture of a few black kids sitting under a tree on campus, does not make this place diverse. Stiles isn’t naive. There’s no doubt in his mind this school is dull as doorknobs. That’s probably why his dad picked it.  

His gut is telling him he’s going to hate this place with every fiber of his being. It almost makes him want to do a line of coke on the kitchen counter just to get sent _back_ to rehab. 

XXX

“You know just because it’s some expensive ass boarding school surrounded by nothing but trees, doesn’t mean that there won’t be drugs and alcohol there? It’s probably more likely honestly. Wouldn’t it be better just to let me stay here, where you can keep an eye on me?” It’s the last card he has left as he sits across from his father at dinner. He already tried the tantrum this morning and at lunch he tried graveling. Neither of which seemed to phase his father any. This is it.

His father glances up at him briefly before rolling his eyes and returning to his meal, “Stiles please, your reverse psychology won’t work on me okay? You’re going. It’ll be nice for you to get out of this city for a while. It’s toxic here and Beacon County is just far enough away for you to do that, but close enough that I can make a trip to come see you if I need to. Besides, as far as trouble goes, I already have that taken care of. I may or may not know somebody that works at the school and I may or may not have asked them to keep an eye on you.”

Stiles groans, throwing his head back, “Are you serious? So what, you don’t trust me now?”

“Less than five months ago, you crashed my car into a tree after a night of underage binge-drinking and illegal drug use. I’d be stupid if I did trust you. It could be worse. I could be home schooling you.”

“ _Pssh_ , you love your job way too much to quit.”   

“You want to test that theory?” John asks, smirking up at his son as if he’s daring him to say yes.  

Stiles isn’t bold enough to even consider it. The last thing he wants is to be at home sitting up under his dad’s ass all day learning stuff. At least in Beacon Country he’ll have some freedom. That’s more than he can say here, not after the accident. He’s lucky his father’s even letting him go to school. 

“No,” he mumbles and his father nods.

“Good. Now how about we just enjoy dinner and afterwards you can start to pack?”

Stiles doesn’t say yes or no or even acknowledge the idea. He can’t believe this is actually happening.

XXX  

“First you tell me you’re leaving and now your father won’t even let you out for an hour to come have lunch with me? He’s such a fucking Nazi,” Brittany complains from her spot lying down on Stiles’ bed. She’s been watching him pack for maybe five minutes and has complained the entire time.

“He won’t even let me leave the house, not until we leave on Friday. He’s got the help keeping an eye on me and everything.”

“What’s going to happen? Does he think the first thing you’re going to do is run off and go party?”

Stiles shrugs, grabbing a long sleeve shirt from his closet and folding it for his suitcase. He would’ve had someone else pack his stuff for him, but his father was adamant on making him do it himself, even gave everyone in the house strict orders not to help him. It’s like his father was trying his hardest to make his last few days in the house hell or something. “I don’t know, probably.”

Brittany sits up with a familiar gleam in her eyes that Stiles recognizes almost immediately, “Just because you can’t go to a party, doesn’t mean one can’t come to you.” She sticks a hand in the body of her Bottega Veneta handbag and pulls out a small plastic baggie filled with round yellow pills. He recognizes them immediately.

“Oxy?”  

She nods with a mischievous grin on her face and dumps one in his hand. “Forty milligrams, _you know_ , because it’s just the middle of the day.”

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, popping a pill in his mouth and sucking at it.

“Well you made it out of rehab, that’s something to celebrate right?”

Laughing, he pulls the pill out of mouth and begins using his fingernails to peel away at the time release coating. The high is so much better without it. “Seems a little counterproductive don’t you think?”  

She’s already sitting at the coffee table in the middle of his room, chopping up her Oxy by the time he’s finished with his question. “You think I really give a shit?” she asks just putting a bump on her thumb and snorting it.

Stiles looks between her and the pill in his hand. Part of him is wondering what the hell is taking him so long to just sit down and snort the shit, as if he hasn’t been craving a good high since he left the hospital. They wouldn’t even give him any good pain killers for his collar bone in rehab. Another part of him though, is wondering if he really went through three months of detoxing, extensive therapy and all that other bullshit just to get out and hook himself back on drugs the next day?

“Don’t waste the Oxy Stiles. Are you going to do it or not?” he hears but he doesn’t bother to look up or acknowledge his girlfriend. When he doesn’t speak, she stands and walks over to him, pushing her body up against his. She wraps one arm around his waist and takes the pill from him with her other hand.

“I bought these for _you_ ,” she purrs, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. He watches Brittany place the pill on her tongue and it immediately takes him back to the first time he ever tried the stuff.

They were at some CD launch party and she’d taken him to the back of the room and put an uncoated Oxy on her tongue. He’d smoked weed before, taken an Adderall or two, but never anything like that. She’d practically begged him, saying it would ‘feel good’, before placing it on her tongue and kissing him. She had been right, it had definitely felt good.  

“Please? The sex is so much better when you’re high,” she adds and he’s about to give in when he hears the distinct sound of keys jingling as someone coming up the stairs.

“Shit, my dad’s home!” he panics, pushing her off of him, “Get your shit off my table!”  

Brittany looks pissed at first, but she swallows the Oxy on her tongue and does as she’s told. She barely gets the remains of her crushed pill off the table before John walks into the room. “Are you almost don-oh, Brittany, you’re still here?”

She smiles smugly at him, rubbing her presence in his face. She knows he doesn’t like her. They’ve had their fair share of verbal altercations face to face, and in interviews. But they both know that while Stiles is in love with her, she isn’t going anywhere. “Sure am. I’d ask how you are, but I was just getting ready to leave.”

Stiles goes to protest, but she cuts him off.

“I have some stuff I need to do today baby, while I’m in the mood to do it. I’ll text you later or call you or something, I don’t know.” He leans in for a kiss, but at the last second she pecks him on the cheek and walks out. John doesn’t hide his glare as she goes.

When he looks back, he sees Stiles’ suitcase is sitting at the foot of his bed open and not even halfway filled. He’s not surprised considering she was here. “You know we leave in two days. You might try and get something done?”

“It would be done by now if I didn’t have to do it myself.”

“God forbid you actually have to put effort into something for once.”  

Stiles looks over his shoulder from his spot in the closet to see his father sporting a self-satisfied smile. It irks him to no end how much the man seems to be enjoying this. He tosses his next shirt into his suitcase without even folding it. He takes a little satisfaction in the way that seems to irritate his dad.

John Stilinski doesn’t seem to let the incident phase him for long though, and the next time Stiles looks over his father is folding the shirt and placing it neatly in the suitcase.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed help,” he spits.

“Not from the any of my employees, no, but doesn’t mean I can’t help my son.”

“If you really want to help me, you won’t send me away to that school.”

“Stiles I’m sending you there _to help you_.” 

“Oh yeah? How is ripping me away from my home, my friends, my life, my _career_ helping me?”  

“ _I’m just trying to keep you from ending up like your mom_ ,” he says somberly and it takes everything in Stiles not to lose it, not to yell at the top of lungs that his father doesn’t even have a right to talk about her because while he was out filming movies and doing talk shows, Stiles was here watching his mom die. 

He narrows his eyes at his father before tossing the shirt in his hand into the open suticase, “ _Fuck you_.”

He makes his way towards the door while his father yells at him to ask where he’s going.

“To smoke a cigarette, _or is that a problem_?” he snaps but doesn’t wait for a reply.

XXX  

Stiles stays in his room for the rest of the day and packs, which his father doesn’t complain about. He understands that Stiles needs his space right now. He gets like this sometimes regarding his mom, but he always comes around eventually. Her death was hard for both of them, especially his son. But they can’t go around acting as if it never happened.  

John has to work the next day and doesn’t get home until late. When he walks into the double doors of his foyer, he sees a series of suitcases and boxes sitting by the door. He recognizes the immediately. They all belong to Stiles. He goes upstairs but doesn’t see the boy in his bed like he’s expecting. He assumes since he hasn’t heard from him all day that he still wants to be left alone. He knows Stiles hasn’t left, meaning he’s probably just in the library or maybe the theater. They leave tomorrow morning so if he wants to spend a little time to himself before then, he won’t bother him.

John heads to his room, sliding off his jacket and turning on the light switch. He’s startled by the sight of his son lying in his bed as if he fell asleep there.  

“Stiles?” 

Stiles sits up, rubbing his eyes. He looks upset, and John remembers how sometimes he would come home to find Stiles curled up in his bed after Claudia had first passed. He hasn’t really done it in a while though. _Jesus_ , John hopes he’s not high. “Dad?”  

“Stiles are you-”

“I’m sorry,” he starts, cutting his father off, “For what I said to you yesterday in my room. I didn’t mean it.”

Stiles looks like a kicked puppy. John forgets sometimes that regardless of what Stiles does and says sometimes, deep down he’s still just a kid. He’s still vulnerable.

“I know.”  

Stiles stares back silently, his lips curling into a faint smile at the sound of his father accepting his apology. “I’ll go…” he says, “to the school. I’ll go and I’ll try okay?”  

John nods. He can’t bring himself to smile even though he knows he should be happy about this. Something about it all just seems bittersweet. What dad wants to send their seventeen son away to live in another town, the same son that just got back from rehab for a drug and alcohol problem. It isn’t what he wanted for Stiles.

 “What made you change your mind?”  

“I don’t want you to end up alone. _I don’t want to end up like mom_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, please comment 
> 
> _Work and chapter title- "Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?" by Fall out boy_


	2. People Will See Me and Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks you guys! its my birthday so I thought id go ahead and share the second chap with you! Im loving the initial response! please keep it up :)

They’ve been in the car for hours and it sucks. Stiles can’t remember the last time he was in a car for this long. Usually if they needed to go anywhere, they’d just fly. They could at least taken a luxury car service but then his dad opted to drive himself so they could spend _quality time_ together.

“I can’t promise I’ll like it,” he says, “Don’t expect to get some phone calls or letters spewing non-sense about the great time I’m having or anything.”

“I’m not expecting you to love it yet, but I’m sure it’ll grow on you. Think of this as almost like a second chance.”

Stiles laughs, “A second chance at what? _Misery_?”  

“No Stiles, you know what I mean. After what happened, people are going to be expecting you to mess up again. They’re going to be _waiting_ for it. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything to this. He knows his father is right. Kids like him, that grow up in the limelight, have different expectations and oddly enough, they’re generally not very good ones. He doubts anybody was surprised when he got into that accident, not even his dad.

“I’m just saying, try and make the most of it. I’ll be checking on you too though—emailing teachers and all that. I’ll be expecting good news.”

“Depends on how you define good news,” Stiles deadpans, staring out the window of the car at the vast array of highways and nothingness. This is even worse than he imagined. He swears he saw a farm a mile back. This is California, not Kansas.

“I define it as straight A’s with no behavioral problems, what about you?”

He shrugs, “You may want to rethink that definition.”  

John rolls his eyes, but it’s all in good nature. It could’ve been worse. At least Stiles was talking to him at all. It would have been a very awkward five hour drive if he wasn’t.  

The drive lasts another hour or so before they finally past the sign that says “ _Welcome to Beacon Hills_ ” and Stiles wants to shoot himself. This town just looks like it fucking sucks. It’s all grass and trees and small, family owned businesses. It’s way too quant to be true. His dad can’t be serious. He could’ve at least sent him to a _real_ city. Does this place even have a movie theater or maybe a bowling alley or something that even kind of resembles a good time?

As if he’s reading his mind, his father says, “This town looks nice.” Now he’s just rubbing it in.

“Nice and boring.”

“Yeah, well maybe you need boring.”  

And he firmly believes that. Stiles’ entire life has been exciting. Since the moment he was born it’s been nothing but pictures and articles, parties and paparazzi. He’s always been in the public eye. It was a wonder there weren’t cameras on his lawn as they were leaving, but John did his best to avoid that, to avoid anyone finding Stiles at all. He knows it isn’t _all_ his fault, but blames himself for a lot of this; and while he couldn’t help his job or who he was, John could at least make sure Stiles didn’t end up being some spoiled, middle aged, burn out with no hope once he died. Materialistically, he’d given Stiles everything. Now he was trying to make sure his son didn’t squander it all.  

“I could think of a lot of things I need before ‘boring’.”

“Give it a few weeks,” his father says, turning onto a long narrow street. Stiles can see the campus coming into at the end and his stomach begins to sink. “You might change your tune.”

Stiles doesn’t respond, barely even hears his father as they pull up to the series of buildings that make up the campus. It’s a pretty good size. With this much space there has to be at least _one_ cool person on this campus. He watches his dad navigate the streets as if he’s familiar with the place and pull right up to what he assumes is the main office. The building is large and a little old looking, made completely of red brick.

John parks right out front and Stiles follows him into the building. It’s pretty nice on the inside, decorated better than your average high school. The quality of the furniture is a little more high end, which means they probably don’t feel the need to worry about the dangers of grubby teens messing up their stuff. There’s no one sitting at the desk in the front, but it doesn’t matter because a few moments later a man is exiting the office labeled “principal”.   

“You must be Mr. Stilinski and this is Stiles, right? My name’s Dr. Alan Deaton, I’m the Principal here at Beacon Hills Preparatory.” Dr. Deaton is a nice enough looking man. He’s average height with dark brown skin and a completely shaved head. He’s dressed pretty casual in a pair of slacks and a sweater, but it is a Friday afternoon after all.

Deaton and his father shake hands before he ushers them into his office and they each take a seat in the suede chairs across from the man’s desk.

“Stiles, we’re definitely glad to have you here. Although school has been in session for about three or four weeks, you haven’t missed much. Now is a good time to join the curriculum without being far behind. After reviewing your transcripts and talking to your tutors, it doesn’t seem as though you’ll have a hard time getting on track by any means.”

Stiles smiles to himself a little bit. Classroom or not, he’s always been fairly smart. He liked to read and learning came pretty easy to him. Focus was another issue though.  

“I know you haven’t been in a classroom environment is a while though. If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed by any of it, you should know we have a guidance counselor, Ms. Morrell, on duty throughout the week and on call on weekends.”   

Stiles nods in reply and hopes he won’t ever actually have to see her. He had a counselor in rehab. Being forced to talk and share your most intimate feelings isn’t generally his idea of fun.

Suddenly John’s clearing his throat and cutting in, “We talked on the phone a little about my son’s um, _situation_.”

Stiles glances over at his father and he just knows that ‘situation’ is code for drugs and rehab. He’s not completely clueless.  

“Ah yes, I remember and there’s no need to worry. We have a strict drug and alcohol policy here on campus, as well as twenty-four attendants and monitoring. Your son should be safe and temptation free here, as well as free from any of the pressures of Hollywood and things like that. The entire experience should be fairly low key.”  

John seems to relish in that and Stiles just sighs. He promised he would try, but God, did his father have to send him to the dullest school in all of California?

There’s a knock on the door and Deaton calls for whoever it is to come inside. In walks a tall, Hispanic teen with black hair and what appears to be a lacrosse hoodie. “ _Um, hey?_ ” he says and it sounds like a question.

Stiles narrows his eyebrows and wonders who this kid is and what the hell he’s doing here?

“Good, you’re right on time. Stiles, Mr. Stilinski, this is Scott McCall. He’s also a junior here at Beacon Hills, as well as co-captain of our lacrosse team and Stiles’ dorm mate.”

Scott just waves a little awkwardly. He seems just as confused as Stiles at this point.

“Classes have just let out for the day so I thought while your father and I talked, Scott could show you around, take you to your dorm. Your father and I will meet you there with your key after we finish up some final paperwork.”  

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to get up, not because he’s particularly excited, he just doesn’t want to have to sit here during paperwork and hear them talk about him like he’s not sitting right there. He stands up, follows Scott out of the main building and back outside before he says anything.

After a moment of awkward silence, he decides to make a little effort, “So your name’s Scott right? I’m Stiles.”

“I know who you are,” Scott says and Stiles assumes he’s probably seen one of the movies he did, or is a fan of his dad’s or something. He doesn’t mention anything like that though. Instead he casually says, “Dr. Deaton introduced us in his office.” 

“ _Right_ , I guess he did.”  

Not that he’s particularly conceited, well maybe just a _little_ , but he expected a little more fawning on Scott’s part…even if it wasn’t over him, maybe over his dad, or even his mom. But no, it’s weird…Scott looks at him in a way he hadn’t been looked at in a really long time, like a _regular kid_. 

Scott doesn’t really say much as they walk, but Stiles concludes that it’s not because he doesn’t want to. He definitely doesn’t seem like a mean guy, but they were both kind of forced into this awkward meeting without any prior acknowledgement. So they walk down the sidewalk for a few minutes until they come to what seems to be the center of everything. It’s a big open area of grass, shaped like a circle and surrounded by sidewalks and school buildings.  

“Um, this is what we call ‘The Round’. It’s where most of the school buildings are,” Scott says, pointing around, “Most of your classes will be in one of these buildings.”

Stiles nods, taking it all in. There are more kids around this area, hundreds of them—coming out of buildings, sitting on the grass, walking by. It doesn’t happen right away, but every few seconds he sees a look of surprise of someone’s face or a group of kids whispering and pointing. Scott’s saying something about the grass when a younger looking girl walks over to him with her cell phone out.

“You’re Stiles Stilinski right?” she asks and Scott looks between them with an eyebrow raised. Stiles isn’t sure why, but suddenly he’s embarrassed, like he wishes she hadn’t said anything in front of his roommate.

“Y-yeah,” he says with a hand on the back of his neck, “I am.”

The girl’s face lights up like he’s just made her entire day and all he can manage is a nervous laugh. Usually he eats this shit up, has been his whole life, but for a moment he was enjoying Scott thinking he was no different than anybody else. He should’ve known it would only be a matter of time before kids noticed him. The normality was nice, at least for the five minutes it lasted.

“I knew it! Do you mind taking a picture with me?”

Stiles stares at her with his lips curled in. On a regular day, this happened all the time. He’d say yes, give some half assed smile and then go on about his life. Today, he finds himself looking over at Scott, as if asking his permission. The other boy just shrugs indifferently. So Stiles puts his arm around the girl and smiles as she takes the picture. By this point a small group of people has gathered around to watch. When they’re done, she giggles happily and ambushes him with a hug which he awkwardly returns. Before anyone else can talk to him, Scott grabs his arm and they start walking a little faster.

“I thought we’d have a few more minutes before the mob came. Keep your head down at least until we’re out of the round,” he says and Stiles raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop walking.

“Wait, you know who I am?”  

“Kind of? My mom told me to, so I Googled your name last night-didn’t get very far though. You did a movie or something right?”  

“Your mom?” Stiles asks, ignoring the rest of it. How the hell would this random kid’s mom know he was coming?

Scott nods, “Yeah, she’s the head nurse here. She mentioned you being an actor or something. I didn’t think they would make you my roommate though. Figured you’d want a whole room to _yourself_.”  

Stiles isn’t sure whether that’s just an observation or an insult, and even after he looks at Scott’s face, he still _can’t tell_. He’s never met anyone like Scott before, who wasn’t at least a little enamored by his celebrity in some way. Not that Stiles hasn’t met people who disliked him before, but you still have to _care_ to hate somebody. Scott seems indifferent. It almost makes Stiles uncomfortable because he isn’t sure how he should act. He almost finds himself wanting this kid he doesn’t even know to like him, when it should be the other way around.  

“Alright, I think we’re good,” Scott says, “You can probably put your head up again now. We’re right by our dorm anyway.” He points at a wide, red brick building in front of them with an abundance of windows.  

“We live in Ashby Hall, room 311. It’s one of the boy’s dorms.”

Stiles follows Scott up a short flight of stairs and through a set of glass double doors. There’s a lobby in the bottom of the building, with a few couches, a couple booths with tables bolted to the walls, a flat screen TV and several vending machines in the corner. To be so simple, it’s still pretty nice. It’s all done in shades of white, maroon, and navy blue. It’s kind of nautical. The couches and the booths are all leather with dark butcher’s block table tops. The floors are all genuine hardwood. Stiles is starting to wonder exactly how much this school costs and how his father found it in the first place.   

Scott motions for Stiles to follow him, “Come on, stairs are over here.”

“No elevator?” Stiles mumbles and Scott glances over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.

“Too good to walk?” he asks. Stiles goes to defend himself, but stops when Scott smiles and laughs. “Yeah, sometimes I wish there was an elevator too. And we’re on the top floor.”

They walk into a hall and go up the three sets of stairs. It’s a little tiring honestly. The next hallway is narrow and Scott lead Stiles straight back until they get to room 311. Then he pulls a set of keys from his back pocket and opens the door, ushering Stiles in behind him.

“Ugh, this is our room.” He waves his hand from one side to the other. Stiles walks into a living area with couches and chairs on each wall and a table on the back end next to a fairly large window. There’s a kitchenette by the door with a fridge, two burners and sink. It’s a pretty good size, not as big as he’s used to, but bigger than he thought. He was honestly expecting two beds and two desks. At least it’s not a prison. It could be worse. 

The walls are white and there are candles and a plant, but other than that it’s pretty bare. “Decorate the place yourself?”

Scott laughs, “That easy to tell huh? The rooms are back there. Your room is in the back on the right. The bathroom is on the left.”

“We _share_ a bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and lets out a short, irritated breath. He can’t win every time.

He walks back and opens the door Scott directed him to. Inside the room there’s a bed, a desk, and some chairs. It’s plain but he can make it work he figures, not like he has a choice. It’s not even half the size of his old bedroom.  

“Suit your needs?” Scott asks and Stiles jumps because he didn’t even hear the other teen walk up behind him.

When he calms, he replies, “I don’t really have a choice but to make it work now do I? My dad already made up his mind. Unless this school spontaneously blows up in the next five minutes, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’d be dead,” Scott points out dryly and Stiles opens his mouth to object but then closes it. Scott kind of has a point.

A few moments later there’s a knock at the front door which Stiles can only assume is his dad and Dr. Deaton with his key and his stuff. This is really happening.

XXX

An hour later, he’s sitting in his room with his father surrounded by boxes and suitcases, none of which he’s bothered to unpack. He’ll get around to it after his father leaves.

John is sitting in a chair across from Stiles, looking around the undecorated room. It seems odd not being back in the boy’s room at home. It’s different for sure, but he hopes that’s a good thing. “Think you’ll be okay here?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Why? If I say no, will you change your mind and take me home?”

“Absolutely not.”  

 _Should’ve figured_ , he thinks as he leans back on his bed and looks away. “Then yeah, I guess I’ll be fine. It’s not like we haven’t been separated for extended periods of time before.”  

John frowns, setting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands over his face. “Stiles don’t, I told you I’m sorry about the hours I had to work when you were youn-”

“I just meant the times that I was away filming,” Stiles points out before side-eyeing his father, “But if you’re still guilty about _that_ , I don’t have anything to do with it.”  

It’s silent, other than the sounds of his father sighing. The subject of his whereabouts during Stiles’ childhood isn’t something they bring up very often, usually because Stiles tends to get touchy about it. Being an actor, especially a popular one, has it toss ups and downfalls. Sure, they were always financially secure, but there are definitely things that John missed out on while being on location and working long hours.  

“It’s a long drive back,” Stiles says. John doesn’t argue. He knows what his son is doing, putting up this wall suddenly. He doesn’t want to talk about it and his father isn’t going to force him.

“I should probably get going.”  

“I’ll walk you out,” offers the teen, much to John’s surprise. He assumed after that, he would just have to let himself out, but he figures it will be a while before he sees his son again. Upset or not, that does count for something.

“Text me or something when you make it home?”

John ignores the question. He and Stiles always text each other after long trips. He knows that’s not what his son really wants to say, he’s just having a little trouble saying it. “You sure you’re going to be okay?” 

Stiles shrugs sadly, the reality of it all starting to settle in on him as they walk outside and stand in front of the car. His dad is leaving _without him_. It’s like going to rehab all over again. “I said I would try right?”

“You can call me whenever you need to Stiles.”

“Thanks dad, but I already know that. Say something important, like that you’ll miss me or something.”

John smiles at his son before wrapping his arms around him tightly. It takes a second, but soon Stiles is giving in and hugging him too. 

“I love you,” he says into his son’s ear, “I love you and I’ll miss you and no matter what anyone has to say about us or what you read or even what you’ve done, I am so proud of you. I will always be proud of you. Just do your best okay?”  

“I will dad,” he speaks softly and then his father’s getting into the car and driving off. It feels weird knowing his dad isn’t going to turn around and come get him. The stares from the other students walking by definitely don’t help. He just wants to get back to his room and be alone for a while, so he turns and climbs the three sets of stairs.

He walks in and heads back to his door when he hears voices from the room next to him, voices other than Scott’s. He doesn’t think much of it until he’s about to turn his doorknob and he hears, _“You’re kidding right? Stiles Stilinski? You’re new roommate is that drug addict?”_

He gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s never been referred to as a _drug addict_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! feel free to comment! 
> 
> _Chapter Title - "Fame" by Irene Cara_


	3. You're Way too Young to be Broken, You're Way too Young to Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks guys! Still loving all the feedback I'm getting for this! I'm glad you're liking it

_“You’re kidding right? Stiles Stilinski? You’re new roommate is that drug addict?”_

He gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s never been referred to as a _drug addict_.  

He’s not sure why, but he feels compelled to stop. Maybe he’s a glutton for punishment, but he’s always read what people had to say about him, good or bad. This is honestly no different. It’s just people he doesn’t know forming opinions about him. He shouldn’t even care, but he does, _he always does_.  

_“Drug addict? Are you sure? He seems alright and he doesn’t really look like one.”_

That’s Scott’s voice. He knows that much. At least Scott isn’t quick to judge, he appreciates that quality.  

_“Well he just got out of rehab if that’s any indication.”_

Stiles doesn’t recognize the second voice. Then again, why would he? Scott’s the only person on this campus that he’s met so far. Of course he would have friends.   

_“Doesn’t mean he was on drugs dude.”_

_“What else do people go to rehab for?” the other kid deadpans. “I mean besides alcohol, which he also has a problem with by the way.”_

_“He’s a cool guy, why don’t I just ask him?”_

_“You want to ask your roommate if he does drugs?”_

Stiles stifles a dry laugh. He’s not sure whether his roommate is really nice or really naive. Scott is trying here, but whoever this other kid, he’s kind of right. Stiles _has_ done drugs. He wouldn’t consider himself an addict, no. Sure, he’s a little more than a social drug user, but not an addict…he doesn’t think. He’s not really sure what the exact qualifications are but he’s not sitting around fiending for them or anything.

_“Look Scott, all I’m saying is be careful. You don’t know anything about this guy, but from what you can read about it, he doesn’t seem all that good.”_

Stiles frowns. His reputation doesn’t precede him the way he thought. It was one thing to have kids, _fans really_ , fawning over him. He was used to that; but he’d never had a roommate before and it would suck to think that his first one ever didn’t even trust him. Clearly whoever Scott’s friend was already didn’t. The kid didn’t seem to think much of Stiles as a person in general.  

When he hears movement in Scott’s room, Stiles opens his door and walks into his own. He doesn’t want to get caught eavesdropping right outside the door. That wouldn’t make for a good first impression. He walks into his room and takes a seat in one of the chairs. He’s barely in there a minute before there’s a knock at his door.  

He knows it’s Scott, probably come to ask him what his drug of choice is or something. For a moment he wonders if he really even wants to deal with this, but Scott hasn’t done anything to him. He actually kind of likes the guy, so he lets him in. 

“Hey,” he says, and Scott’s not alone. Some tall brown brunette kid with curly hair is behind him. So this must be the other guy. He’s got his hands in his pockets and his lips pursed. Stiles notes that this kid would be kind of pretty, like a high fashion model…if he hadn’t been in the other room calling him a _fucking addict_.  

“Um, hey?”

“We’re going out,” he says sand Stiles stare at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say _‘what does that have to do with me?’_ It clicks to Scott after a second and then he points behind him at the other boy. “By ‘we’ I mean me and my friend Isaac. Isaac this is Stiles, Stiles this is Isaac.”

Stiles tries his hardest not to shoot the kid a death glare, and by the looks of it, Isaac is trying his hardest not to do the same back. “Hi,” he mumbles.

Isaac rolls his eyes where Scott can’t see him and gives an offhand, “ _Hey._ ”

Scott looks between the two but doesn’t say address it. He isn’t in the mood to force it. “I know it’s your first night here but, there’s this bonfire tonight a couple miles from the school. I borrowed my mom’s car. You want to come with us?”

Stiles narrows his eyes, a little surprised honestly. He just met Scott maybe two or three hours ago. This guy has no reason to be nice to him, but yet here he is…against his friend’s will clearly. Hell, pissing this Isaac kid off might be enough of a reason to go in itself.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to be bothered by all those kids on your first day, you know, because of who you are and all.”

Stiles looks back at all the unpacked bags and boxes in his room and shrugs, _fuck it_. He’s not about to do anything anyway. “Sure, why not? Just give me a second to change.”

XXX  

The ride is chill for the most part. Scott’s into some alright music, but as Stiles leans his arm against the door, he can’t help but notice Isaac’s eyes glancing back at him from the rearview mirror. It’s subtle and quick, but there’s definitely nothing friendly about it. He’s not doing it because he admires him or wants his autograph or anything.  

Finally Stiles can’t take it anymore. He sees those stupid blue eyes looking back at him again and he _just can’t_. “Do we have a problem or something?” he asks, hoping the irritation is just dripping from his words.  

He can see Isaac smirk a little in the mirror and he almost wants to lean over the front seat and choke him, “I don’t know, do we?” he retorts. 

Stiles doesn’t even get a chance to _think_ of a reply before Scott’s mediating. “Isaac, chill. You haven’t known each other five minutes and you’re already at each other’s throats? Can we at least make it to the bonfire first before you two decide you don’t like each other?”  

Isaac gives a submissive “ _yeah_ ”, but Stiles doesn’t say anything. He’s pretty sure it’s a little too late for that.

A few minutes later they’re driving down a random dirt road into the trees and for a brief second Stiles wonders if this was even a good idea? A high profile guy like him driving into a random forest with two people he doesn’t know is kind of irresponsible, but he’s done worse he figures. He had a really bad trip on mushrooms once with Brittany. He thought he was seeing werewolves in her backyard and he almost had a panic attack, but he came out unscathed. Unless Scott and Isaac were murderers, it definitely couldn’t be worse than _that_.  

When he sees the other cars parked in the grass and the mass of kids surrounding a pile of burning plywood, he figures he’s okay.

Scott parks and they all get out, walking towards the group. Stiles isn’t really sure what to expect and he wonders if maybe he should’ve thought this through a little better considering his status. This could turn into a really irritating party really fast but it’s dark. Plus there’s music playing and kids with cups in their hands. He’s thinking the lack of daylight might help people not to notice who he is, but as soon as they get close to the fire and his face is visible, he can see people pointing and whispering just like earlier.  

“Don’t worry about them,” Scott says, noticing the stares a second later. Even though this is something Stiles is probably used to, it hadn’t occurred to Scott that he might not want to be bothered by a mass of teens, “Let’s grab something to drink and I’ll introduce you to some cool people?”  

Stiles nods, anything to make him look like he’s preoccupied.  

The closer they pass by the other kids, the easier it is to hear what they’re all saying. 

_“Holy shit, is that Stiles Stilinski?”_

_“What the hell is he doing here?”_

_“Oh my God, he’s even cuter in person!”_

_“I can’t believe he’s actually here! Do you think he’ll give me his number?”_

_“Wasn’t he on meth or something?”_  

He almost wants to turn around and defend himself after the last one, because he’s done a lot of things but never _meth_. He doesn’t get a chance before he, Scott and Isaac are approaching a table with drinks…and apparently some people they know too because Isaac’s hugging a curvy blond female and a buff dark skinned male.  

Scott hesitates and scrunches his face before picking up a red plastic cup to hand to Stiles, “Do you ugh… _drink?_ ”  

“You mean _can I drink,_ right? I heard your buddy Isaac talking about me earlier, in your room,” Stiles admits and Scott looks away, seeming a little embarrassed.

“Sorry about that.”

Stiles takes the drink from Scott’s hand and shrugs it off, “It’s cool…I thought the school had a strict no drinking and drugs policy.”

Instead of Scott, the blonde girl before them steps in, “Technically we’re not on school property, _are we_?”

She’s got a cup in her hand and an almost seductive tone to her voice. Stiles can’t help but notice the low cut of her white t-shirt. It’s definitely a _nice_ view. “I’m Erica,” she smiles confidently before the boy next to her clears his throat. She slips an arm around his waist and plants a kiss on his cheek. “And this is my boyfriend, Vernon.”

“ _Boyd_ , preferably.”

Stiles shakes his extended hand. Boyd definitely has a firm grip and although he looks nice enough, Stiles reminds himself never to get on his bad side. “Stiles.”

Boyd nods, “Your dad’s John Stilinski right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”   

Erica looks between the two of them and Stiles can see the sly look forming on her face. She leans in towards him and whispers, “Boyd likes your stuff too. He totally saw ‘The First Time’ with me. He’s way too modest but he’d _love_ an autograph.” 

He arches his eyebrows at Boyd wondering if it’s true but Boyd just glares at Erica. “Don’t try and use me for your own personal gain.”  

She pouts but Stiles laughs. He likes them, they’re a cute couple. He makes a mental note to sign something cool for both of them before Scott pulls him in another direction, leaving Isaac, which he doesn’t mind at all.  

Someone grabs at his jacket as he walks but Scott brushes them off. Another kid tries to call his name, but he just continues to follow, acting as if he never heard them. If Scott doesn’t stop, then neither does he. He’s supposed to be in Beacon Hills to learn, granted he’s at a bonfire right now, but he didn’t really come here to stand out and be a celebrity. He told his dad he would try, so he assumes that includes trying to _fit in_ too.  

He takes the first sip from his cup as he follows Scott around the warm aura of the fire. It’s beer, not particularly Stiles’ favorite but not that bad. His drink of choice before this was vodka, but they have the same end result he figures. His body doesn’t really seem to care, because as soon as the drink hits his stomach, he’s getting the familiar warm feeling he associates with drinking. It’s been a while since he had a drink, but it _feels_ good. Then again…that’s the whole point. That’s why he drank so much in the first place.

For a moment he questions if this is a smart idea? He even hears the words of his counselor in the back of his mind telling him he that drugs and alcohol needn’t control his life, but he ignores it. Scott and his friends are cool so far, but the way some of these kids are looking at him—he needs this. It’s just beer. It doesn’t mean he’s going to go back to his old ways or anything. _He’s not even driving_.

He’s halfway done with his cup when Scott stops on the other side fire. “Hey guys, I want you to meet my new roommate.”

Stiles looks up from his drink and sees three people. There’s a boy with short, dirty blond hair. He appears athletic with a really strong jaw and he doesn’t look particularly friendly. Then there’s a girl with shoulder length black hair. She seems a lot nicer, with a broad inviting smile on her face. The last person takes Stiles back for a second. She’s a petite girl with red hear, green eyes, and some of the most adorable pouty lips he’s ever seen. She doesn’t look mean or friendly, just indifferent, like she has better places to be…and Stiles imagines that a girl _this pretty_ just might. If he wasn’t in love with Brittany, he might just try and ask her out.

“Stiles this is Jackson, Allison and Lydia. Guys this is Stiles.” 

Allison smiles at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder and extending her hand. Stiles returns the gesture. Jackson just looks him up and down and scoffs, “ _This_ is Stiles Stilinski, son of _John Stilinski_? You’re kidding me right?”

Stiles brows lower and he feels a little insulted. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “ _Um no_ , he’s not. Sorry I didn’t quite meet your expectations,” he bites back, giving the boy the side eye. It’s only been a minute but he’s already decided he like this guy even less than Isaac.   

Lydia has her arms crossed over her chest and she seems to be looking across the fire before she briefly glances back at her friends, “Hey.”

Stiles sees Scott looking over his shoulder in the same direction, but when he looks too, he doesn’t see anything but a bunch of rowdy kids. Whatever Lydia’s looking for is lost on him.  

Allison leans in and whispers, “ _Aiden_ ”, to which Jackson and Scott both roll their eyes.

They don’t say anything, but Stiles assumes it must be some guy she’s looking for. Like he figured, something _better_ to do.  

And honestly, he can think of something better he’d prefer to be doing to because his cup is empty and if he’s going to enjoy himself at this child’s play of a bonfire, he should at least be a little drunk. There’s got to be something better than beer at this party…

X

It only took him five minutes to find a group of kids willing to exchange a few pictures for some real booze…and honestly that’s five less minutes than he’d been expecting so it’s pretty much a win on his end.

Within the hour, he’s managed to drink enough vodka and beer to have his eyes glazed over and his feet stumbling around whenever he decides to move. He’s signing what he hopes is an autograph on the top of some loud brunette girl’s chest when he feels a set of arms pulling him aside.

“He-hey, _what the hell?_ ” he slurs, dropping a sharpie in the grass and tripping over his feet. “Get off me!”

He flails his arms and turns around to see Isaac standing behind him. “Oh God, it’s _you_. Wha-what the hell do you want?”

“I’ve been looking for you for like twenty minutes!”

“W- _why_?”

“For Scott,” he says like it should be obvious. Then again, it probably should be seeing as Stiles and Isaac didn’t start off on the right foot and Stiles is fairly drunk. “He was worried about you and rightfully so, because from the looks of things, you’ve been getting drunk off your ass and embarrassing yourself.”

He’s finding it hard to stand straight and keeps leaning towards his right side, but he still manages to narrow his eyes challengingly at Isaac, “Embarrassing myself?”  

“Yeah, stumbling around signing shit and taking stupid pictures with a bunch of people you don’t know, and who knows what you were _saying_? Come on, let’s go find Scott.” Isaac reaches out to takes Stiles’ arms, but the boy flinches obnoxiously and almost falls backwards.  

“I don’t know _you_ ,” Stiles says accusingly, putting a long drawl on the last word. “Why should I follow you anywhere?”

Isaac rolls his eyes and tries his hardest not to yell, or maybe even threaten Stiles with bodily harm. Does he have to be so obnoxious? He’s exactly the way the media portrays him, _naïve and entitled_. “Because I’m taking you to Scott.”

This time when he reaches out for Stiles, the drunk teen doesn’t flinch. He just staggers along as Isaac drags his through the grass to where Scott is. Suddenly he’s falling out of Isaac’s grip and into Scott’s hands.

“Look, I’ll catch a ride with someone. You should probably take your roommate home before he does something stupid, or before one of these kids puts his pictures up on TMZ… _if they haven’t already_.”

Scott nods and gives Isaac a quick ‘thanks’ before putting Stiles’ arm over his shoulder and pulling him towards the car.

“ _What? Where are we going? I’m fine, let’s go back. I’m fine_.” 

Stiles tries to pull away from Scott, but as more time passes, he seems to have less and less real control over his body. He doesn’t think he drank that much, but it’s been a while since he’s been drunk and the liquor is hitting him hard. He didn’t think his tolerance would drop this low this fast, but he doesn’t mind it. Less time and energy he had to spend getting wasted.

At first, he wasn’t sure if it was smart of him to drink again so soon after getting out…but once the liquor started hitting his stomach and he got that warm, familiar numbing, feeling, it was all downhill. He wanted liquor and even after he was drunk, he had only wanted more.

And now here he was, piss drunk, not even a full week out of rehab, and being dragged to some non-luxury car by a kid he’d met less than ten hours ago.

X

 _“Why?_ ” Stiles moans into the porcelain bowl of the toilet. He’d felt nauseous in the car and had barely made it up all three flights of stairs; but once he had, he’d bolted to the bathroom to throw up.

His stomach hurts. His throat is going raw and he remembers the downfalls of drinking. What the hell had even possessed him to get _this_ drunk?

 _Oh yeah, his lack of self-control_ , _the very same thing that landed him in rehab_.

“You okay?” he hears from behind him. He struggles to look over his shoulders because his body hurts, but he does and sees Scott sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his elbows perched on his knees.  

“Yeah,” his says before retching and struggling to catch his breath. His words are sloppy and distorted as he speaks again, “You know, you don’t have to sit there and watch over me. I can take care of myself.”

“If you could take of yourself you wouldn’t be vomiting into a toilet right now. I think I should stay.”

Stiles forces a sarcastic laugh into the bowl and shudders as it echoes loudly in his ears. “ _Ha!_ I’m pretty sure I’m a seasoned veteran at this actually, so thanks but no thanks.”   

After the next round of heaving Stiles is laying draped over the toilet wishing he would die when Scott appears next to him with crackers and water. He barely has the capacity to sit up, but he manages to push himself against the wall and take a cracker from his roommate to nibble on.

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles manages to ask, “I just met you earlier. You don’t owe me anything.”

Stiles wonders if it’s it because of _who_ he is for a second, if Scott wants an “ _in_ ” or something. It’s not like that hasn’t happened to him a thousand times before, he meets people who only want to be his friend for what he can offer them instead who he actually is. Brittany was honestly one of the first people to show that she cared about him. Stiles spent a lot of time by himself as a child.

Scott averts his gaze and rubs the back of his neck, looking almost ashamed. “I kind of do actually.” When the still semi-drunk teen in front of him doesn’t get it, he continues, “Isaac told me you kind of had a problem and I didn’t believe him. I shouldn’t have offered you that drink or let you keep drinking. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I was thinking but I’m sorry. And you’re _my_ roommate. If I don’t look out for you, well somebody is going to try to take advantage of you out there for sure.”  

When Stiles looks up only to see genuine concern on Scott’s face, he feels _guilty_ , like he took advantage of Scott or something…and maybe he did, because the other boy really had no idea what he was getting himself into when he offered Stiles that drink. Sure, Isaac had warned him but Stiles hadn’t backed it up. He’d just embarrassed him by telling him that he’d heard them talking.  

He hates remorse. It’s usually something he’s only ever felt towards his parents…and maybe Brittany, but not anyone else. Yet here he is feeling bad for what he did to Scott. He _manipulated_ him and now look at where he is.

“I got out of rehab last week,” Stiles admits, and that’s the first time he’s ever said rehab and actually felt ashamed of it.  

“ _Last week_?” 

“Y-yeah…”

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No no, it’s cool. They said something about this is rehab, ‘ _nobody can force you to drink, you make your own choices_ ’ or whatever. You didn’t pour alcohol down my throat or anything so we’re fine right?”  

“I don’t know. Can you promise not to drink again? It would be nice if you didn’t have to go back to rehab before the year was over. I don’t really want to get used to another roommate.”

Stiles grimaces, because he doesn’t want to lie. He’s always been a little reckless. “I can’t make you any promises, but I can _try_?” he lies. 

“Yeah well, I’m going to do my best to make sure that you keep that promise,” he says and Stiles groans.

“I don’t need a babysitter dude.”

Scott smirks, setting the water on the floor and patting Stiles on his shoulder, “Yeah, you _do_.” 

XXX

When Stiles wakes up the next morning he looks like shit and he feels even worse. Hangovers always fucking suck and this one is no different, though usually he has some pot or something to kind of help him ease his way out it. He doubts Scott has anything like that lying around.  

He drags his feet towards the kitchen hoping for a glass of water, but is instead greeted by a plate of eggs and sausage sitting at the table with a glass of orange juice and two ibuprofen. Scott’s already sitting at the table eating a piece of toast and texting on his phone.  

“Hey you’re up! I figured you’d be hungry,” he greets as Stiles sits down across from him. Stiles shifts his stares between him and the plate before Scott seems to frown. “Something wrong?”

“You’re awfully nice,” Stiles concludes, his tone skeptical as if it’s a bad thing. “You’re not like, hitting on me are you? I mean it’s cool if you are, but I’m not—”

If Scott isn’t using him for his status, he’s got to be out to get something right?

Stiles is cut off by the sound of Scott’s laughter. “Guys aren’t exactly my type Stiles, and if they were, well…have you seen _Isaac?_ ”

Stiles can’t help but shrug in agreement. Scott has a valid point. He doesn’t like Isaac but dude is kind of pretty.  

“I just figured you’d have a hangover and I know that it can be helpful to get some food and something to drink in you, especially before you take ibuprofen.”

Stiles nods, “Well thanks…does this happen to you a lot?” He doesn’t really remember Scott drinking a lot last night, if he ever even finished the first cup he had. He doesn’t look like the kind of kid who just gets plastered often.

“Me? _No_ ,” Scott says shaking his head and standing to take his own plate towards the sink, “My dad? _All the time_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment  
>  _Chapter Title - "I'm Not the One" by 3oh!3_


	4. And I'm Out of My League Once Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for the feedback, I'm glad you guys are liking this. I got i think, three comments that said the same thing about characterization and I'm so happy that you think I'm doing a good job at that!

Stiles is content to spend the rest of his Saturday nursing his mild hangover and sleeping in his dorm, but something tells him that Scott— _ever the social butterfly_ —is not about to let that happen. Scott’s been shuffling around their dorm doing God knows what for about an hour now. It’s around two and Stiles is lying in his bed, face down, when his roommate is knocking on his door.

“ _What_?” Stiles groans. He doesn’t tell Scott to come in, but he hears his door peeking open anyway.

“I’m meeting up with Isaac, and the two girls I introduced you to last night, Allison and Lydia, at this burger place on campus. You want to come?”  

The promise of food perks his ears up, but the idea of actually going to retrieve it himself doesn’t. A burger joint, on _campus no less_? It doesn’t sound that great, but this doesn’t seem like the type of school where they would allow mystery meats to be served or anything. He at least thinks he’s safe from contracting Salmonellosis or any other disgusting food related disease.

Stiles pushes himself up onto his forearms and stares at Scott with narrowed eyes, “You know, just because you’re my roommate doesn’t mean you have to invite me to all of your functions.” Scott is nice, but he doesn’t have to go out of his way to be. If the roles were switched, Stiles definitely wouldn’t. For all Scott knows, Stiles could be a total asshole…it’s not as if people haven’t thought so before.

“ _Functions_? It’s just burgers,” he says as if Stiles is stupid, “So, are you coming?”  

Stiles lets it go, seeing as Scott is content of completely ignoring his point. “Do I have to get dressed?”

“Just look kind of presentable,” is all Scott says and Stiles knows he’s going to sit and wait for him in the living room whether he says yes or not.

XXX  

The burger place, _uncreatively named “Beacon Hills Burgers”_ , is only about a ten minute walk away from their dormitory. Along the way they pass a lot of other kids and Stiles gets this weird, awkward feeling as he briefly remembers just how drunk he was the night before. God he hopes he didn’t do anything incredibly stupid, at least not on his first night there…then again, if any of these kids have ever seen a tabloid or watched E!— _and he knows that they have_ —they’re already aware of dumb shit he’s done drunk before. 

“There’s a couple other places to eat on Campus too,” Scott is saying as they walk up. They’ve been sort of talking the whole time, but Stiles has been in and out of the conversation. “But on Saturdays this is where we usually end up for lunch.”

Stiles catches that much. “Will some of your other friends be here?” He remembers meeting a couple of other kids last night, ones Scott didn’t mention were coming to lunch.

“A few of them might be in and out, yeah.”

Stiles follows Scott inside the door and immediately a hand shoots up in the corner, waving them over. It’s Allison, the dark haired girl from last night. Just like before, she looks incredibly happy and inviting.

“She’s nice,” Stiles comments as they walk across the restaurant.  

“Allison? Yeah, she’s pretty amazing.”

The way Scott says it brings a smirk to Stiles’ lips, “Amazing?… _Are you two_ …” He knows he doesn’t have to finish for Scott to catch on. He even blushes a little.

“No, not anymore. We did last year but it…it didn’t really work out.” And that’s all he says about it, so Stiles doesn’t press the issue. Something tells him people around aren’t used to sharing their business with everyone around them. _Must be nice_ …

Isaac doesn’t hesitate to roll his eyes when he sees that Scott brought his roommate. After Isaac came and found him last night, Stiles feels like he _should_ be embarrassed, but he’s not. Part of it has to do with the fact that he’s been photographed and recorded drunk so many times he’s lost count and partly because it’s _Isaac_. He almost wishes Isaac was around to suffer the misfortune of him throwing up instead of Scott.  

Stiles and Scott slide into the booth across from the other three. Allison and Isaac seem to look pretty relaxed, which is good because Stiles only wore sweatpants, sneakers, and a white t-shirt…though granted, all of which in designer. Lydia has on a crop top, skirt and flats, with full make-up, but something tells him that this _is_ relaxed for her.  

“Hey,” Scott greets, “You guys ordered anything yet?”

“No, we were waiting on _you_ ,” Lydia answers and somehow she manages to look annoyed and playful. Stiles can’t tell if that’s meant to be vicious or not.   

Scott just seems to laugh it off, “Sorry. I invited Stiles at the last minute.”

All eyes fall on him and he wonders if they’re expecting him to like, apologize or something, but Isaac speaks instead. “Surprised to see you here honestly.”

“We heard you got sick,” Allison saves, throwing a sideways glance at Isaac which he doesn’t seem to care much about. “Are you okay now? I was worried.”  

He’s a little surprised by the question. He’s thrown up before, plenty of times, but he can’t seem to remember the last time someone asked him if he was okay and said that they were worried afterwards...except maybe his dad, but that was usually after an intense session of scolding for being reckless. Allison seems so, genuine so far, like she actually cares—a lot like Scott. He wonders why she and Scott ever broke up?  

“Um, yeah, for the most part. I was feeling a little nauseous earlier, but I think I’ll be alright.” She smiles at him and it’s oddly contagious, he feels obligated to smile back.  

“So other than _that_ , how’s your first day been so far?”

Stiles bites his lip as he thinks, feeling a little put on the spot until he notices that Lydia, Scott and Isaac seem to be carrying on their own conversation about last night. It sounds like they’re filling Scott in on what happened after he left to play nurse to Stiles.     

“I haven’t seen much, but it looks alright I guess. You guys seems cool…most of you,” he doesn’t hide his glance at Isaac, which only seems to make her laugh.

She leans across the table a little and whispers, “Don’t worry about Isaac. You’re new and he thinks he’s being cautious. He’s just a little _reserved_ , is all.” 

Stiles wants to ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean and how it excuses Isaac for being a dick, but he’s interrupted by Scott silently sliding a menu in his direction. Nobody else has one, but he assumes that’s because they’ve all been there before and he’s the new guy in the situation.

The selection seems pretty normal as far as burgers go. He isn’t expecting any particularly interesting or gourmet ingredients, like truffles or something to be served here. Not that he’s complaining; a burger is a burger and the greasier the better. He hasn’t been able to enjoy a really genuine burger, or genuine _anything_ , since he told the cook to start making more health conscience meals for his dad. So when it’s his turn he orders the least healthy burger he can find and a double order of curly fries.

“Hey, how’d you end up getting home last night?” Scott asks, turning to Isaac. 

Stiles thinks back for a second and he doesn’t remember the other boy driving back with them, granted he was ridiculously plastered, but he knows at least that much.

Isaac glances between Scott and Allison, almost nervously, “I ugh…Allison drove me actually.”

Scott looks at Allison and gives her a quick thanks, but Stiles can’t help narrowing his eyes at Isaac. _Please_ , maybe Scott didn’t notice the weird sexual tension going on there, but he definitely did. It didn’t come off as innocent and Isaac probably _hoped_ it had.  

“Oh it wasn’t a problem really. Lydia ended up getting a ride,” she gives her friend a playful scowl, and adds, “So it was nice to not have to drive back alone.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, pretending to be irritated, “I told you I was _sorry_ Allison.”

“Not sorry enough to cancel on Aiden,” and Stiles wonders who the hell this Aiden guy and what makes him so special? The thought is stupid. He doesn’t even _know_ this girl. They haven’t really even talked and besides, he is happily taken.

Just that thought alone is enough to make him pull out his phone and bring up Brittany’s number. **‘Survived day one’,** he texts. 

He awaits a reply but nothing comes, at least not before their food. Stiles sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket. She’s probably auditioning or filming something. He’ll just have to wait until she’s less busy, but who knows how long that’ll be. If she’s on set, she could be there for hours. He dives into his burger, finishing it off as he listens to Scott and his friends talk about some upcoming assignment in history class that he’s glad he has no part of.  

“How was it?” Scott asks as Stiles finishes off his meal before anyone else.

“Well it definitely killed what was left of my hangover,” and he would kill to go somewhere and smoke a cigarette but he doesn’t mention that part, as if there’s anywhere on this campus where he even could. Would he have to find a way to leave campus every time he wanted to smoke? It’s not his dad had let him take his car. He could walk, he figures, or maybe invest in a bike…but who the hell would want to do that? He could just quit, but he didn’t necessarily _want_ to. 

His leg nervously shakes up and down the more he thinks about it. He’s starting to want a square bad, like _really_ bad. So he throws caution to the wind and says fuck it. If he gets caught smoking a cigarette on campus what are they really going to do, expel him? 

“Hey, I’m gonna go outside for a sec…get some air,” he says, and by the way Isaac raises his brow, Stiles can tell it probably sounded sketchy as hell. They all are probably assuming ‘get some air’ is code for doing heroin or something…which he’s also never done.   

“I’ll go with you,” Lydia adds, standing up before he can even object.  

She follows him outside and stands beside him as he looks around, tapping his hand against his pocket. He’s trying to scope out a good area, one with some decent shading, maybe a little out of view.  

“You can smoke in my car,” she says casually before her tone changes to something more sharp, “Just as long as you don’t ash on the interior. I don’t care who you are, it’s brand new Shagreen leather and I won’t have your cigarette stains soiling its integrity.”

Stiles can’t argue with that, though he has no idea what the hell Shagreen leather is or why she cares so much about it. He rubs his hand across it just to get a decent feel before he sits down and he’s sees the red head rolling her eyes as she pulls down her overhead mirror.

“It’s _stingray_ leather,” she sighs, almost as if it was a waste of her time to have to tell him that, “I figured you of all people would know that.”    

He pokes his bottom lip out and nods, “Cool.” She cracks a window for him and he lights his cigarette, watching her out the corner of his eye. So far all’s she’s seemed to do is fix her lipstick and her mascara, both of which are things she could’ve just as easily done in the bathroom.

It’s weird. He wants to talk to her, for the sake of killing the silence at least, but he isn’t sure what to say to her. It’s not a problem he’s used to. If nothing else, Stiles can always talk, but something about this girl’s entire presence just has him at a loss for words. She’s almost more intimidating than any Hollywood socialite he’s ever had to talk to.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks over at her as she pulls out her phone, “So I’m just going to assume that you’re not going to pull out a cigarette any time soon?”  

“ _Nope_.” 

“But you came outside with me to what, watch?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says dryly and doesn’t even bother to look up at him. “I knew you were coming out here to smoke, and I concluded that if I did the favor of later you would owe me a favor.”

“Favor?” he asks curiously, “Like what, an autograph or something?”

The laugh she replies with is almost condescending, “ _Please_ , unless you can get your hands on a Liz Taylor or even just a Leo DeCaprio, I’m not particularly interested.”  

He pouts a little, usually teenage girls love having him sign stuff. And where the hell would he get an Elizabeth Taylor autograph these days…his dad might know? It’s only a second though, before the wheels in his head are turning and he’s asking, “Wait, then what’s the favor?” 

“I’m not going back inside. I’m waiting for someone and when they get here, you’re going to give Allison my keys to drive my car back and cover for me,” she says matter of fact, pursing her lips at the end and giving him no other options really.  

Something about her almost reminds him of Brittany…only there’s something a little different there that he can’t quite put his finger on. Lydia’s definitely intriguing, but also completely untouchable on both his end and hers.

“Okay. So, how’d did you know I was coming outside to smoke?” he asks, changing the subject and killing the silence. He is a little curious, but he’s kind of just a curious person in general.

“It was pretty obvious,” she starts, “By the way you were shaking your leg inside, or when you were tapping your hands against your pocket out here. You’re so anxious, which is common amongst people who have just recently gotten over drug and alcohol dependencies. They tend to pick up other habits like eating or smoking to help counteract that feeling and give them something else to do.”

“Oh,” he says thinking it over. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Lydia curls in her lips and nods. Stiles gives her a half smile back and continues sucking on the end of his cigarette. “So where should I tell them you went then?” he asks when the silence becomes too much for him again.

She’s looking out the window of the car expectantly as he asks this. When a black bike pulls up beside them, her smile widens significantly and she puts her palm on the door handle, “You can tell them truth.”

A muscular, brown haired male in a brown leather jacket pulls up on a black motorcycle and slides his helmet.

“Tell them I left with Aiden.”  

Stiles brushes it off at first before snapping back to get a good look at this guy. He’s only been there a day and yet he’s heard about this guy multiple times. He definitely wants to get a good look at him. So this is him? _He doesn’t seem all that special_ , Stiles thinks…before he’s honestly wondering why he even cares at all?

XXX

“Lydia left,” he informs dryly, tossing the keys towards Allison. She catches them despite the perplexed look on her face. “She wants you to drive her car back.”

Everyone looks equally as puzzled while Stiles just stands and waits for them to start heading out. He has a blank look on his face and he’s having trouble deciding whether or not he’s upset with the red head for putting him in this position. He’s not sure why he’s feeling oddly bitter about it, seeing as he just met the girl, but something about her is kind of alluring. She seems like so much more than a pretty face and he likes that, but what’s worse is knowing that he can’t have it. Not that he would cheat on Brittany, he’s not like _that_ …but if he was available, Lydia isn’t exactly one of the girls whose been fawning over him since he stepped foot on campus yesterday.  

Allison blinks a few times, checking out the keys in her hands, “O-okay, but where’d she go? Did something happen?”

“No, she’s fine. She left with _Aiden_.”

He watches closely as Allison rolls her eyes with a slight smile. “Hm…well I have her keys now I guess. Do you guys want a ride back?”

“I think we’ll be alright walking back, just let me hit the bathroom first,” Scott says for him and Stiles. The other boy definitely frowns a little at the thought of walking back. It’s not like they’re walking down Rodeo Drive or something. He would’ve enjoyed a good ride.

Isaac looks at Allison taking her up on her ride and she assures him she’ll be back after a quick run to the bathroom as well, leaving Stiles and Isaac behind. The taller male doesn’t look particularly pleased, and Stiles isn’t going to pretend to either. He does notice Isaac’s line of vision as Allison walks away.

“Could you be any more obvious?” Stiles asks. Isaac’s eyebrow shoots up but he doesn’t say anything in reply. “About your crush on your best friend’s _ex_ -girlfriend?”

He doesn’t looks surprised or ‘caught red-handed’ like Stiles had imagined he would. He just narrows his eyes, looking Stiles up and down, like he’s assessing just how serious he is. “So what, are you gonna tell Scott?”

“No, not yet. _You_ should.” He’s not sure why he’s coming to Scott’s defense, but he the guy seems nice and Stiles almost feels compelled to.  

“You should stay out of it.”  

Stiles shrugs non-chalant, “I’m just saying. He’s going to figure out eventually himself. It might be better if you just tell him, or you know, stop.”

“Thanks for the advice, Stilinski. I’ll keep that in mind…maybe while we’re at it, I can offer you some advice?”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” he wonders. He can see the stupid grin etching its way onto Isaac’s lips already.

“ _She’s out of you league dude._ ”

Stiles tries to hide the feeling of surprise that swells inside him. How the hell… “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“If that’s the best you’ve got, you’re a terrible actor,” Isaac offers snidely, “And yes, you _do_. You were checking her out when we first got here, and you were clearly jealous when you told us she left with Aiden. Celebrity or not, you should probably just let that one go.”

“That’s hilarious coming from you. Is this you pretending to be a _good friend?_ Or let me guess, you probably asked her out once and this is your way of saving me the same embarrassment?”

“It was the first day of freshman year actually.”

Stiles just rolls his eyes, ““And what, you thought everything was going to be different for you in high school but she said no?”

 “She even laughed, told me to come back when the bike I rode around campus had an engine, not a chain.”

“Yeah well, unrequited love’s a bitch…” Stiles states hoping his lack of sympathy is one hundred percent evident in his tone, “Which is fine, because I’m not interested.”

“Sure you’re not and she has Aiden anyway.”   

“Yeah, and Allison dated Scott.”  

“But Scott and I can talk this out…Aiden isn’t going to _talk_ to you.”

Stiles is about to ask what he means, when Scott and Allison round the corner coming back from the bathrooms.

“Ask Scott,” Isaac adds, “Jackson _still_ has a restraining order out against Aiden.”  

Stiles wonders about that for a moment, his face contorting in curiosity because _Jesus, a restraining order_? But he finds his composure and brushes it off, “Thanks for the advice Isaac, but I’m good. I have a girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend you haven’t mentioned until now. If she’s so important…why didn’t you say anything about her before?”  

Honestly, he had assumed that was common knowledge, but efore Stiles can say anything Scott and Allison are in front of them, chatting about something and leading them all out the front door. Isaac still has this arrogant look on his face, which Stiles is about to belittle when a message comes to his phone. It’s from Brittany, which makes his face light up a little and he smugly opens up the message.

 **‘That’s great and all babe, but I’m kind of busy working right now. Talk later?’**    

He sees Isaac roll his eyes beside him, clearly reading his messages.

“Yeah, _some girlfriend_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again! please comment 
> 
> _chapter title- "Out of my League" by Stephen Speaks_


	5. Open Up my Eager Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still loving the response this is getting! thanks a bunches! sorry if this isn't the most exciting chap, doing some intros, but i hope you enjoy the sheriff/stiles moment :)

He’d be lying if he said Isaac’s comment didn't tick him off just a little, but Stiles didn't come here to make enemies…or even friends really, so he just brushes it off. They just don’t mesh well and he’s totally okay with that. He’s got other things to worry about, like his relationship.

He told Brittany to just contact him when she was free but that was hours ago and still nothing. She had to have gotten one break by now, at least according to her union rights. It irked him, but part of him knows it only irritates him because Isaac got a kick out of it. He doesn't end up dwelling on it though, because as he’s lying in bed setting up the WiFi on his computer, his phone starts vibrating. _Finally_.

But when he looks down, it isn't Brittany like he was expecting. “Dad?” he asks into the receiver.  

“Hey, are you busy?”

“No?” he replies confused. What would he possibly be doing mid-afternoon, on a Saturday at this place? He was lucky enough to have gotten drunk last night…not that he plans on mentioning that to his dad. He’d be down here in no time flat ready to drag his ass back to rehab without question.

John laughs on the other end, “Stupid question?”

“Little bit.”

“I guess I’m going to have to get used to you being there…as opposed to you _being out_ , doing God knows what.”

Stiles is glad his father can’t see his face as he sulks a little. He knows what he’s is implying and if rehab did anything right, it did tend to make him regret making his father worry so much back then…even if he’d never tell him that. “Don’t worry dad, I’m one hundred percent safe, I promise.”  

“I know,” he says, “ _I trust you_.” And that chokes Stiles up a bit. He didn't expect this conversation to go from zero to sappy in 2.5. He can’t remember the last time his dad actually said he trusted him. Usually it was more along the lines of ‘ _I don’t trust you’_ and ‘ _why would I when you keep fucking up?_ ’

“Thanks.”

“So how was day one? I see you survived,” John comments as Stiles slides his computer off his stomach and puts his full attention on his phone call. 

“Yeah, it was brutal, but I managed to pull through.” And part of that is true because that hangover was pretty shitty until he after he ate lunch.   

“Well thank _God_ , I was worried you’d be dead by now.”

“Dead? Out here in the middle of nowhere? It’s surrounded by woods. I’m pretty sure I’m safe, except from maybe an animal attack or a few harmless fans.”

“I hear they had some cougar problems a few months back.”

“Animal or human?” Stiles jokes, “Because I might be into the latter?”

He can practically hear his father’s eyes rolling on the other line, “Don’t even think about it.”  

“Why not? She could be your new daughter in law and you’d have a lot in common. You guys could talk about the seventies and mortgages together.”

“Stiles, you’re _seventeen_ and I’m not above shooting any creepy, middle-aged woman you bring home.”

“Just because you played a Sheriff in one movie, one time and kept the props, doesn't mean that you are actually capable of shooting anybody dad.”

“Hey, how about a little respect? That role won me an Oscar,” John pouts and Stiles can’t help the deep throated laugh that escapes his mouth. He likes talking to his dad like this, like they used too. As opposed to their most recent conversations where Stiles was doing drugs and crashing cars and getting sent to rehab.

They exchange a few more back and fourths, laughing as they go before things wind down about ten minutes later.

“But you’re really doing okay so far?” John asks, not even attempting to hide the concern that’s just oozing from his words. Stiles wonders for a moment if maybe his dad regrets sending him away, but then figures that it’s probably not that. John probably just _misses_ him. It’s mutual, especially since this is long term, unlike shooting movies or rehabilitation.

Stiles nods, even though nobody is around to see him, it just feels right. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’d rather _be home_ , but other that, everything is fine.”

“I know and I’m sorry about that…but you’ll understand eventually okay?” Stiles doesn’t argue with that, he doesn’t want to ruin the good thing they’ve had today. “Have you talked to…you know, _Brittany_?” 

Stiles thinks back to earlier, to the way she just blew off his message. “No…I haven’t heard from her today,” he lies.

He’s happy his father doesn’t press it or start to bash her. He just lets it go, “Well I’m sure you’ll hear from her before the end of the day. Be safe and I love you okay?”

“I love you too dad.”

XXX  

Monday morning Stiles is woken up by Scott knocking on his door telling him that he can shower first if he wants. He’d been so asleep he hadn’t even thought about showering, but since he was up now, he figured he might as well. It’s his first day and he should at least try and make a decent first impression, even if he could honestly care less. The only thing that’s really been on his mind, is why Brittany never bothered to get back to him?

At this point it has nothing to do with Isaac’s comments anymore. He called her and texted her on and off yesterday with no answer. Could she really be too busy to send him a quick text? She’d never really been too busy before. He’s tries not to dwell on it too much because if he does, he knows he’ll be analyzing the ins and outs of it all for hours and Scott will never get to shower.

Once he’s out of the bathroom, Stiles pulls a shirt out of an unpacked box and a pair of jeans out of another. He makes a mental note to ‘unpack the rest of his shit’ at some point this week if only for the sake of his own sanity. He’s always been fairly organized and he’ll go crazy if he has to keep staring at all of this unpacked stuff littering his dorm room. It would be nice if someone was here to do it for him, but clearly that’s out of the question.  

He rummages through a few more boxes until he finds a backpack filled with some school supplies and slings it over his shoulder. He wishes he could say the action felt “nostalgic” or something, but it’s not even close. He’d give his last movie role to be anywhere other than high school.

Scott’s already standing by the counter drinking orange juice when Stiles emerges from his room and he can’t help but wonder how the hell the kid moves so fast, but doesn’t question it. He’s probably just a morning person. “Know what your first class is?” he asks.

Then it suddenly hits Stiles. He doesn’t have a schedule. Shouldn’t that have been the first thing they gave him?

“No. I don’t know what any of my classes are actually.”  

“Want me to walk you by the office? They probably have your schedule.”

“No, I think I can handle it.”

XXX

Only he totally _cannot_ handle it.

Finding the office is easy, he remembers where it is from his first day. Getting his schedule is also easy. All he has to do is give the secretary his name and she prints a schedule right out. The problem is finding his first class once he gets the stupid piece of paper. It’s not like they attached a _map_ to it. You think they would assign someone to escort him around campus given who he is…was… _is_. Stiles doesn’t ask though, because he doesn’t want to seem like the pretentious Hollywood starlet he knows he is. He’s smart enough that he can figure this out for himself. 

Stiles spends ten minutes wandering around before he finds his first class, Chemistry with some guy names Adrian Harris. He’s not particularly fond of chemistry, but working with chemicals is cool, so he thinks he can manage. He walks into the room to find a tall, thin male with dark hair and glasses lecturing to group of juniors. As the teacher stops talking, it seems like all the kids take this as their cue to whisper back and forth about the new student that has just interrupted their class.

“Hey,” he says, pointing to his chest, “Stiles. I think I’m supposed to be in this class. Is this Chemistry with Harris?”  

The teacher crosses his arms and stares Stiles up and down as an amused smirk comes to his face. It’s not the kind of smile Stiles expects good to come out of. “Yes it is; and since you were capable of reading _that…_ is it safe to assume that you were also capable of reading the column that states that this class started approximately twelve minutes ago?”  

Stiles glances down at his schedule and then looks back up at Mr. Harris with narrowed eyes and a less than amused tone, “Um, yeah, _sorry_? I’m new. I had trouble finding the room.”   

“Of course,” Harris doesn’t take his eyes off Stiles as he slips his hand into his desk drawer and pulls out a pad of paper. “Let’s see if you have trouble finding it when you report to detention this afternoon?”

The teacher quickly scribbles on the pad and pulls off the top sheet, sticking it in Stiles’ hand with an arrogant scowl on his face.

“Are you _fu_ -are you kidding me?” He asks, voice rising and hands flailing into the air. He doesn’t care that he’s about to make a scene, this is ridiculous. It’s his _first_ day. It was an honest mistake.

Harris doesn’t seem to be listening, or even care, as he turns towards the class and gathers their attention—not that he needs to. “Let this be an example to all you class, even someone with a reputation as _notorious_ as Mr. Stilinski’s here— _and yes, I know who you are_ —is not above the rules of this classroom. Now that you’ve completely disrupted my class, please find a seat.”

Stiles can hear every drip of sarcasm oozing from the teacher’s words and he hates it, sarcasm has always been _his_ thing. He wants to lash out right back, wants to drop every swear in the book and walk right of this classroom the same way he’s walked out of so many photo-shoots and interviews before…granted he might have be high or hung over, but that’s completely unrelated.  

He looks between Harris and an empty desk in the back, as if weighing the pros and cons of lashing out and throwing a celebrity tantrum right in the middle of this classroom. The look on his face suggests that Mr. Harris is just _begging_ for him to try something and Stiles wants to give him exactly that, until he sees a kid in the back pulling out his cell phone as if he’s getting ready to record the ordeal and that snaps him back into reality. This isn’t Hollywood where his money and daddy’s name and lawyers can get him out of any and everything. This is the _real world_ and he promised his dad he wouldn’t be a fuck up in it, that he wouldn’t turn out like his mom. So he sucks up all his pride and sits down in the empty back seat.

XXX

“Fuck chemistry and fuck Harris,” is the reply Stiles gives when Scott asks him if he made it his first class alright. They’re standing in the round outside, where Scott happened to notice him walking out of the Science building.

“What happened?”

“I got a detention,” he spits bitterly, “On my first day. Seriously? This is like the exact opposite of what I thought was going to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?”

Stiles shrugs, “I don’t know, _not that_. I was thinking maybe an awkward introduction in front of the class where I tell everyone stuff about me that they already read on Wikipedia or something afterschool special like that.”  

Scott laughs, shaking his head and giving Stiles a pat on the back. It catches the other teen off at first, just because he used to not being touched like that, but after a second he realizes it’s a friendly thing. “Yeah, that sucks, but maybe it’ll get better. Harris is kind of jerk. What’s your next class?”  

Stiles pulls his crumpled schedule out of his pocket and spreads it out against his leg. “Looks like Ancient Mythology with some dude named Peter Hale.”  

“Oh cool, I’ve got that class too. It’s in the history building. I’ll walk you.” Scott starts walking and Stiles follows, eager to not be late and earn himself another detention on his first day.

“Is this teacher any better?”

Scott thinks for a minutes, giving a dramatic eye roll, “Define better?” When Stiles’ drops his head back and groans Scott adds, “He’s not _as much_ of an asshole. He’s just a little…sketchy.”   

“Sketchy? Is that even a good trait for a teacher to have?”

“Depends, I guess, on who you’re asking.”

XXX  

When they walk into the room, Stiles instinctively takes the seat right next to Scott. The room’s already filled with kids standing and talking up until they notice him. Then suddenly it’s pointing and talking, mentions of his name every few seconds. A few girls look like they’re fighting over which one of them is going to get to sit next to him. Once the bell rings though, it all calms. It isn’t until several moments after the bell that the teacher actually walks into the classroom. He looks normal enough to Stiles—short brown hair, well-trimmed facial hair, slightly above average height, muscular-ish build. Nothing about him particularly screams sketchy, but it doesn’t mean that he isn’t looking.  

“Okay let’s settle down,” he starts, even though the room is already fairly quiet. His eyes scan the room mechanically before shooting back and locking directly on Stiles, “Well, it seems we have a new student in our midst this morning.”

He pulls a piece of paper off of his desk and runs his eyes along it, “Stilinski is it?”  

“Yeah.”

Stiles watches as Mr. Hale’s eyes bug slightly at the paper, “Some first name you have here.”

The teen blushes, but doesn’t bother to recite it aloud. It’s not like he ever uses it anyway. He ditched that name back when he realized he realized most people wouldn’t be bothered actually trying to pronounce it right. It would be a pain in the ass if he had to correct someone during every talk show and interview.

“I prefer to go by Stiles.”

Mr. Hale looks at him blankly and nod, “Stiles, okay. Stilinski isn’t a very _common_ surname. Would it be reasonable to assume you’re kin to John Stilinski, the actor and director?” 

“He’s my dad,” he replies nervously, hoping he isn’t about to get another speech about how his family or his career doesn’t make him special. It would be easier to believe if people would just stop pointing it out.

Once again, Mr. Hale just nods and Stiles realizes that he can’t really read this guy at all. His expression hasn’t really changed or his body language. Stiles can’t tell what he’s thinking or if maybe he’s a fan or anything.

“Well, welcome to Ancient Mythology Stiles. I’m Mr. Hale,” he says, before launching into a lecture about the significance of relating old mythology to modern day situations.

If nothing else, Stiles can conclude that this guy definitely knows his stuff. He seems pretty passionate and maybe even a little self-assured, but not intolerable or anything. He’s definitely not Mr. Harris. So Stiles finds it easier to feel at ease, even with Scott’s description looming in the back of his brain.  

“For example, last class we learned about Daedalus—the brilliant inventor that built the labyrinth for King Minos before being imprisoned there. Does anyone know who his son was, or what terrible fate befell him?” Mr. Hale glances around the room but nobody seems to know anything, but then Stiles slowly raises his hand. “Oh, Mr. Stilinski, do you know this answer?”

“Um yeah,” Stiles may have taken an interest in mythology a few time before partying became his main focus, “Icarus right? His dad built them wings to fly off the island but his wings melted.”

Mr. Hale nods, an almost strange grin on his face, “Yes. His father, Daedalus warned him about flying a straight path, but Icarus, caught up in the excitement of it all, strayed from the path and fell to his demise after the sun melted the wax that held the feathers together. Tragic isn’t it? Daedalus warned his son, but then lost him to his own creation. You would be surprised how easily a story like that can apply to most parents these days.”  

Stiles gets an odd feeling that the story isn’t completely random, but then wonders if maybe he’s just being paranoid. After a brief moment, he chalks it up to the latter and doesn’t think about it again for the rest of the time. After an hour and a half of class, Stiles is gathering his things and getting ready to follow Scott out to lunch when Mr. Hale calls him back. He shoots Scott a raised brow but he just shrugs it off.

“So you’re new. It says here that you transferred under ‘ _extenuating circumstance_ ’ and that we teachers should make sure not to let your celebrity interfere with your learning or the learning of others. That doesn’t seem to be an issue in my class.”  The teacher says. He’s looking over a paper on his desk, _a note it seems_ , before he takes a seat on top of his desk and rests his elbow on his knee. With his chin resting in his hand, he stares right at Stiles, never diverting eye contact.

“How are you though? Because you seemed less than excited, although you clearly know this subject. Is it the class?”

Stiles fumbles with the straps of his backpack, wondering what he must’ve done to get called back. _If he gets in trouble again…_ “No. I’m alright, I guess.” Peter Hale raises an eyebrow, as if telling him to go on. “Well I got a detention during first hour but other than that, not bad.”

“Do you mind if I ask what for?”  

“I was late. I didn’t have a schedule and then I couldn’t find the classroom. Mr. Harris didn’t really seem to care.”

“ _Adrian_ Harris?” the teacher asks, sounding less than surprised. “Can I see that slip?” 

Stiles pulls the paper out of his pocket and hands it to Mr. Hale who eyes it suspiciously before putting it in his own pocket.

“ _Never mind_ that,” he says, “Don’t worry about the detention this afternoon. I’ll take care of it. Enjoy the rest of your day Mr. Stilinski. I look forward to having you in my class this semester.”

XXX

“What did he want?” Scott asks when Stiles emerges from the room with a puzzled look on his face.

“I don’t know. He asked me how I was doing and then he took my detention slip and ripped it up. Can he do that?”

“You’d be surprised what he gets away with, well him and his nephew Derek Hale. He teaches PE and coaches basketball. Their family like helped to found the school and still donates crazy money. Talia Hale, Mr. Hale’s sister, used to be the principal before Dr. Deaton.”

“What happened?” Stiles asks curiously, wondering why she would give up a cushy job like this “Did she retire?”  

Scott shakes his head with a grimace, “No, she died when the old office burned down late one night in fire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment 
> 
> _chp title- "Mr. Brightside" by the killers_


	6. Who Do You Think That You're Fooling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! once again thanks for the feedback. I really like that you guys like this story! esp. since its such a slow burn.
> 
> Also just so you know, BHP follows a blocked schedule meaning that there are eight total classes, but you only attend 4 classes a day for an hour and a half. So one day you go classes 1-4 and the next day you attend classes 5-8!

If there was hell on earth, it would literally be located in any high school gym in America. While Physical Education is probably the favorite class of most students, it’s never really been his thing. Stiles prefers a different type of physicality that has absolutely nothing to do with education and more to do with a lack of skirts and panties. Regardless, it’s required, so he finds himself walking into the locker room and back towards the teacher’s office.

“Um hey?” he says and inside is the other Mr. Hale, _Derek_ , according to his schedule. He looks young, but fit with a chiseled jawline and several days’ worth of dark stubble. Even from here Stiles can tell he has a serious no bullshit vibe about him. “I’m Stiles. I’m new.”

The teacher glances up from his desk and rolls his eyes, “Congratulations. Do they not knock where you’re from?”

“Your door was open,” he states matter-of-factly, because the way Stiles sees it, if Mr. Hale didn’t want people walking into his office, he should’ve closed the damn door. “I took that as an invitation.”

The teacher looks at him with strong glare, which Stiles is starting to realize might just be a permanent fixture on his face, and seems to be assessing him. It’s almost uncomfortable, like he’s literally seeing right through him or something. “Well, it wasn’t; but since you’re here, I assume you need something?”

 _Seriously, what the hell crawled up his ass and died?_ Stiles is wondering before he remembers what Scott said about his mother after his encounter with Peter Hale earlier. He guesses he can relate to that. Even still, Derek doesn’t have to be a total jerk. They don’t even know each other. He could at least wait until Stiles gave him a reason to dislike him, and he probably will.

“A uniform.” Like honestly, why else would he be here? Unless he had a doctor’s note saying he didn’t have to participate, which he totally would, had he known PE was even a requirement.  

Mr. Hale doesn’t do anything at first, just stares, before finally standing up and heading towards a cabinet in the back of the room. He opens it and then peaks over his shoulder, “What size?”

He shrugs, “Medium I guess?” and a few moments later he’s being handed a pile of clothes including a shirt, shorts, and a pair of sweat pants. “Thanks.”  

“Change and then meet us in the gym. Today we’re going on a long distance run,” And there’s a sarcastic smirk on his face.

Internally Stiles cringes. A run? Drugs, alcohol and physical activity don’t exactly go hand in hand. He doesn’t even remember the last time he had to run, except from cops maybe? And even then he probably didn’t get very far. Being thin, didn’t necessarily make him fit. He’d smoked enough weed in his day to know that he probably had the stamina of a guy three times his weight, if not less. But something told him that Mr. Hale probably knew that, because as he was starting to figure out, the only person who hadn’t known he was coming to this school was him.

X

Stiles makes it all of maybe one quarter mile before he’s clutching his side and ready to die. Fuck high school and definitely fuck PE. Mr. Hale is leading the pack, running like a freaking gazelle with the endurance of a cheetah and he’s back here fumbling around like a three legged hippo. He regrets not showing up to any of those sessions with his personal trainer last year, but he’s pretty sure he was too high to even remember how to get to the gym. For a second he wonders if his priorities maybe were a little fucked up, but… _nah_ , being high trumped working out any day. Screw natural endorphins.  

He’s about ready to quit and hide behind a tree for the rest of class when two kids seem to fall back beside him as he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Hey,” the one to his right says and when Stiles looks over and recognizes the kid immediately. It’s Aiden. He looks to his left and its…well it’s also Aiden. _Oh God there’s two of him_. He must be getting ready to pass out. Clearly he’s more out of shape than he thought.  

“H-hey,” he forces back.  

“You’re Stiles right? The new kid, the _actor_.” And he’s not sure if he’s being mocked by the way the last word is said.

“Yeah…”

“We read about you.”

“Oh yeah…and who…who is we?” He hates the way they make this stupid run look easy.

“I’m Aiden and this is my brother, Ethan.”

Ethan waves from the left, though it seems anything but friendly. Stiles just grimaces back and continues to focus on his running, if you can even really call it that.

“You look tired.”  

He glares and huffs out, “No shit? I thought I looked like an Olympic fucking runner.”

“No need to be snarky,” Ethan says, feigning hurt, “We came to you as friends…thought you might be in need of our…”

“S _ervices_.”

It creeps him out the way that Aiden finishes his sentence and he wonders what the hell Lydia sees in this ass-hat, other than the muscles thing maybe? And the stamina.

“Services? Don’t tell me this is some sort of weird twin sex thing, because I’m not really down for that.” Both twins exchange confused looks, completely unaware of what Stiles is talking about. 

“Um no…Not those kinds of services. We read about you know, the kind of things you’re into—”

“ _And_ we might be able to help you find what you’re looking for.”

It cliques to stiles almost immediately after that. They’re trying to sell him _drugs_. Oddly enough, the first thing he wonders is whether or not Lydia knows about this. He wonders if she cares. “What makes you think I’m looking?”

“Please don’t feed us your reformed rehab BS Stiles. You think you’re the only kid at this school who’s ever been to rehab. This place is full of all types of privileged kids like you looking for something to take the edge off. Only difference is you’re exploits are plastered all over TMZ and theirs aren’t. We know your type, and they _always_ come back,” Aiden monologues and there’s a slightly threatening undertone to his words, like maybe he’s not afraid to get physical if need be.  

Ethan seems to be the gentler of the two, coming in with a more calm voice and adding, “Look, we know what you like, and don’t think we’re limited by any means. Anything you want, we’ve got. It’s as simple as that. At least take our numbers.”

He hands Stiles a folded piece of paper and at this point Stiles is more than done with this conversation. Even if he did want something, and honestly he would even settle for some mid-grade weed at this point, he doesn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction. “Yeah, well thanks but no thanks. I’m not looking.”

“Not yet,” Ethan says and Aiden finishes, “ _But you will be._ ” 

Add Stiles can add them to the list as another reason why he fucking hates PE.

X

Stiles has one more class left in his first day and he’s so grateful. Who knows what his classes will be like tomorrow? Hopefully better. After the hell that was Phys Ed, he’s happy to be able to just sit down for an hour and a half and just chill. His final class is English with some lady named Jennifer Blake. She sounds nice enough.

He rushes into the room just before the bell rings and almost immediately he sees Allison waving him over. She’s sitting next to Lydia, with Scott behind her. Stiles takes the empty seat beside Scott, his breathing a little labored from trying to sprint to class.

“Hey, how’s your first day going?” she asks.

Stiles shrugs. So far he’s gotten detention, gotten out of detention, been forced to run half way across the state and offered drugs. “It’s alright I guess.”  

“Are you sure? You look pretty worn out.”

“Yeah, I had PE before this. We went on a run. I almost died. It was lovely.”  

She and Scott both share a laugh, Lydia rolls her eyes with an amused smirk. “Mr. Hale is alright sometimes,” Allison offers, “A little intense but you’ll get used to it. He coaches basketball. I’m pretty sure he just assumes everyone is as athletic as he is, or at least forces them to be.”  

He opens his mouth but before he can say anything, a young woman with long dark hair is walking into the room with a pile of papers in her hand. She looks a little too young and adorable to be the teacher, but there’s no one else, so it has to be her. Stiles thinks he might actually enjoy English.

“Afternoon class,” she smiles brightly, taking a seat on the edge of her desk. “Before we get started, I’m sure by now you all know we have a new student, a _Stiles Stilinski_ …” She scans the room until she sees a face she doesn’t recognize. “Oh, hey! There you are. Seeing as I don’t know anything about you—”

Which is a pleasant first for the day honestly.

“How about you come to front and say a few words about yourself?”

Stiles isn’t sure what he has to say other than his dad sent him hear fresh out of rehab, which they all already know, but he quickly jumps up anyway. Almost immediately he regrets it, because his head is spinning and his legs are going limp underneath him. He barely gets a hand on his desk to stabilize himself and keep from completely falling over. A loud, screech is heard as the feet of the desk scrape across the floor.

“Oh my God? Are you okay?” Ms. Blake jumps up to her feet almost immediately. The boy looks pale and his cheeks are flushed, but Stiles waves her back.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

The teacher grimaces, looking conflicted before suggesting, “I think you should go to the nurse just in case…Lydia, I know you’ll be okay missing some of the lecture. Will you go with Stiles to the nurse please and make sure he’s okay?”  

He doesn’t think its that serious, but whatever, is Ms. Blake thinks he needs a chaperone. He doesn’t even think he needs to see the nurse but he’s never opposed to getting out of class so fine. Lydia takes his arm reluctantly and they walk into the hallway. He lets her lead the way because he has no idea where he’s going. They walk in silence and Stiles thinks that’s more of her personal choice more than anything.

“You I don’t really need you to walk me to the nurse. You can just tell me where it is if you want to go back.”

She tightens her lips, “But then how would I know you’d actually go?”  

“Guess you’d just have to trust me.”

She pretends to think it over before shaking her head, “ _No_ , I think I’ll just go ahead and walk you. We wouldn’t want you falling over again and hurting yourself.”

He’s about to tell her to suit herself before he catches the insult, “I did not _fall over_.”  

“And what would you call that thing you did in there where your legs buckled and you tumbled into your desk?” She’s a little snarky but it isn’t in a terribly mean way. He kind of enjoys her banter. She’s witty.  

She leads him into a building marked ‘Nurses Wing’. It’s stark white with very subtle pale maroon accents. They never miss an opportunity to promote the school colors. It’s not a very big building but Stiles sees at least two hallways so he’s knows there several components. He assumes they must keep students here sometimes. The concept reminds him a little of the hospital wing in Harry Potter, but it must be better than having to send kids to the actual hospital for every small thing.

Lydia leads him down one hallway and towards a door with a plaque signifying that this is the ‘head nurses’ office. She doesn’t even knock before entering. “Mrs. McCall?”

A petite Hispanic woman in scrubs looks toward the doorway. She’s smiles pleasantly, her curls bouncing around her face. He remembers Scott saying his mom was the head nurse. He realizes this must be her. He knows that she knows exactly who he is and why he’s here like a most of his teachers from today.  

“Lydia,” Mrs. McCall says and Stiles notes the familiarity there, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Mrs. Blake sent me to walk Stiles down.”

Suddenly she’s looking at him as if she just noticed he was there attached to the Lydia’s arm. “Oh hi. It’s your first day isn’t it hun? What happened?”

She’s got a very calming, friendly tone to her voice. It’s comforting and in that moment she actually reminds him a lot of Scott. An embarrassed heat comes to his cheeks as he relays the very short story, “It wasn’t big deal really. I guess I got a little dizzy when I stood up from my desk.”  

“He practically passed out,” Lydia adds.

Melissa seems to mull this over in her mind for a second before she has Lydia and Stiles following her into the next room. It’s a room with an exam table in the middle and jars full of medical supplies surrounding the walls and a chair in the corner. It looks more like the nurses office he remember from his actual times in school. “Would you mind sitting on the table for me please?”

He wants to protest, because _really_ , but he does as he’s told. Lydia sits in the chair as Melissa goes through a few drawers, getting supplies. “Did you do anything strenuous today?” she asks.

“I guess. We went on a long distance run in PE.” It just sounds so stupid out loud, pathetic honestly. Like what seventeen year old boy can’t do a little running?

Melissa nods walks towards him with a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. She has him take several deep breaths, moving the cold metal head around his body. She takes his blood pressure next and then records some notes on a piece of paper.  

“Did you cramp at all or have trouble breathing while you were running?”

He thinks back and then shrugs casually. “Yeah, but I wasn’t _dying_ or anything.”

Melissa nods, still looking at her paper. “You don’t have asthma right? And I know there’s no history of it in your family.”

He nods at first, kicking his leg back and forth against the table obnoxiuosly. “Wait, _what?_ ” 

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘you know’ there’s no history of it in my family. How do you know that?”

Even though he knows he doesn’t live the most private life of all time, still, he’s pretty the average person can’t just look up his medical history. Scott seems pretty laid back, but he’s wondering about his mom a little. When he’d talked to his dad about cougars he’d honestly been joking.  

Melissa gnaws at her bottom lip and then lets out a defeated sigh, “I promised your dad I’d let him tell you,” she says, “But I guess I can just let him chew me out later. Your father and I know each other. He asked me to keep an eye on you actually…though I guess that isn’t going to well since I had to see you on your first day.”  

Well his dad definitely didn’t tell him anything about that, but it would definitely explain how she knew to tell Scott he was coming. He wonders if she has something to do with him filling the empty room in Scott’s dorm?

Stiles narrows his eyes, trying to think back, “I don’t think he’s ever mentioned you.” 

“Well we don’t get to talk as often as we used to, he’s a busy guy. But we’ve known each other a really long time. I knew your mom and I even met you once or twice but you were probably too young to remember.” She flashes another warm smile and he smiles back, but makes sure to remember to mention her to his dad. He didn’t even know his dad _had_ friends outside of Hollywood.  

Almost immediately she’s back in nurse mode, “Can I ask you something Stiles? I don’t want to offend you, but it will help me understand what happened better. Lydia if you could step o-”

“Its fine, whatever it is, she can stay. Ask away.” His life’s an open book. She’s been sitting here already anyway.

“Prior to coming here, you had an issue with drug dependencies right?”

He’s pretty sure they both know the answer to that, but she’s probably just asking to be polite instead of assuming. He decides not to be difficult and just nod.  

“Were uppers or prescription pills included in that?”  

“Yeah, almost everyone you can think of.”    

“Do you know the long term effects that things like that can have on your body, especially your respiratory system?” He shakes his head. _God, no_. Yeah, he wasn’t stupid. He did like to read, but not about anything like that. He didn’t need any reasons to think about the drugs he was taking less he wanted to freak himself out or second guess his good times.

“Prolonged use can cause respiratory distress which can lead to things like difficulty breathing, light headedness and dizziness. I’m thinking that, mixed with the excessive physical activity today, caused your little episode. Your body was probably a little shocked at being forced to exert that much effort so suddenly, and the damage that’s already been done definitely didn’t help.”

He’d assumed it had something to do with the drugs earlier. It’s just another thing he can add to the list of ways drugs tried—and succeeded—to screw up his life along with crashing the car, going to rehab and ending up here.

“I’m not worried yet, but if you come close to passing out again, we’ll have to keep you to make sure it isn’t something more serious. For now I would suggest taking it easy for the rest of the day, just going back to your dorm for whatever’s left of class and getting some rest. Make sure to drink lots of fluids. As long as Mr. Hale doesn’t do anything like a _long-distance run_ again, I think we’ll be okay. Your body will get more used to the activity over time, though it will be a little harder for you than the average person.”

 _‘Average person’_ meaning someone who wasn’t on drugs. He feels more pathetic than anything because wow, if he everyone probably didn’t consider him a real drug addict before...now he has ‘ _long term’_ respiratory problems. _Awesome_. She tells Stiles she’s going to write him a note and he thanks her.

“I’ll check up with you tomorrow to see how you’re doing,” she says and he doesn’t doubt it. Something tells him he’ll be seeing a lot more of her now.

He wonders if she’s going to call his _dad_? As if he’d needed anymore validation in his decision to send his son to rehab.

X

Mrs. McCall asks Lydia to walk Stiles to his dorm before returning to class so here they are walking around The Round. Part of him is curious to know what was going through her mind in there, especially considering the talk he had with Aiden and his brother today.

They’re walking out of the building, him with his hands in his pockets and her beside him staring at her nails. It’s quiet but not awkward. After a moment, he feels compelled to say something to her so he says, “Thanks.”

The red head doesn’t even glance at him, “For what?”

“For walking me,” he says, “Even though I didn’t really need it, but still, thanks.”

“Ms. Blake and Ms. McCall told me to.”

And Stiles just rolls his eyes. He’s trying here, since she’s Scott’s friend and all, but damn does she have to be so cold? Allison and Erica were both nice. “You know you could just take it and say you’re welcome, like _normal_ people.”  

“Are you implying that I’m not normal?” Even though he likes the banter, he hates her ability to sound indifferent and almost bitchy at the drop of a hat, it’s mocking honestly.  

“Well you’re definitely _something,_ ” he mumbles off handedly. He’s not even sure why he bothered to try. He’s sure if he just stuck to Scott as a friend, his dad would at least think he was making progress; and he’d probably like Allison way more than he likes Brittany.

“Would you prefer I fawn over you and kiss your ass like most of the girls here are just dying to?”

He’s caught off guard by the insinuation. He didn’t think he’d been coming off like that and since the party, he’s been doing his best to not stand out and give girls like that his attention. “That’s not what I meant.”

Lydia looks at him with disbelieving eyes and puckered lips, “But it’s what you _want_ , right?” 

God dammit, this girl is literally like the devil in a plaid mini skirt. He couldn’t read her if the words were literally laid out right in front of him. It’s like being around her just kills all the confidence he spent his entire life building up as a celebrity. Talking to people has never been this hard. Talking in general has never been this hard.

“I didn’t-I don’t-I…” he stutters before looking away and giving up, “My buildings right there. I think I’ll make it.”  

She makes a skeptical noise, like she really doesn’t trust him—or maybe doesn’t think he’s even capable of making it to the building himself—before nodding.

“Alright fine,” she says and he’s knows she’s gone by the sound of her heels clicking away. The first thing he does when she’s out of range is pull his phone out of his pocket. He dials the all too familiar number as he heads into Ashby Hall. It’s like since Isaac called him out, being around Lydia gives him this urge to validate his relationship with his girlfriend.  

The phone rings twice and then she ignores the call.  

And then he wonders if he still has that piece of paper Ethan and Aiden gave him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading 
> 
> _Chapter Title- "John Doe" by B.O.B_


	7. Girls Used to Follow Me Around, then I Got Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, thanks for the awesome response to the last chap! You guys are awesome! 
> 
> Some stydia in this chap so enjoy that...maybe? We'll see

Pills are one of the easier things to take without anyone initially noticing. Weed smells too much, even if you’re not smoking it, and that’s always a dead giveaway. If not that, the low red eyes will. Coke is cool, but nosebleeds and sporadic behavior can definitely be a real major issue especially if you’re doing large amounts at once. He could do LSD or shrooms or some other psychedelic drug, but the hallucinations would eventually make it really obvious that he was on drugs. He wouldn’t want to freak Scott out or anything. He doesn’t seem like the kind of roommate who would want to do drugs with him; and yes, while Stiles does do them, he isn’t about encouraging other people to join him. That’s their choice and he won’t be the one to blame if something happens.

After a long debate, Stiles decides he’ll buy pills, nothing strong—probably just Ambien. It’s an interesting high if you take enough of them. It’s nothing like Oxy, a lot more like being drunk actually, but still fun. He figures he’ll mix it with some Codeine if they have it and just go ahead and make a night of it. After that stint in rehab, he could really use a good high. He should’ve taken the Oxy’s back when Brittany had them in his room; and if nothing else, get some rest like nurse McCall wanted. And if it dulls the ache of being ignored by his girlfriend, well hey, that’s just an added bonus.

It’s not like Brittany’s never been mad before, but before he could placate her with the promises or drugs, sex and alcohol. Now that he’s not around, he’s not sure what to do other than apologize about something totally out of his control and he doesn’t really want to do _that_. He briefly considers sending her flowers but he’s pretty sure she doesn’t like plants unless they’re the kind you can roll in a joint a smoke. He can’t mail her any of _that_. He can’t think of much he can do about that situation now except wait, so instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and types in Aiden’s number from the paper the twins gave him. He then opens up a text and types three words.

**‘Ambien. Codeine. Stiles.’**

It only takes a few seconds for him to receive a reply.

**‘Didn’t even take you all day. We knew you’d come to us eventually.’**

**‘Do you have it or not?’** He doesn’t need a fucking speech about it. He just wants his stuff. As far as he’s concerned, Ethan and Aiden are not and will never be his friends. They are strictly drug dealers.

**‘5 bucks a pill. 35 bucks an oz.’**

Stiles knows he’s has more than enough in his wallet. Money isn’t the issue, never has been. Maybe if it was he wouldn’t have been as strung out as he was in the first place. **‘4 pills. 2 oz. Ashby 311.’**

**‘3:45.’**

Stiles doesn’t reply. There isn’t really a need. It’s three now, classes are finally ending for the day. He assumes Aiden will probably have to go pick up what he wants from wherever he gets it from. It would be stupid to keep it in his dorm since there’s such a “serious” drug policy. At least Stiles hopes the guy isn’t dumb enough to do that. He pulls his computer out while he waits but doesn’t make it past checking his email before he hears knocking at the door in the living room. Scott has a key, so he can’t imagine who the hell this would be. It hasn’t even been close to long enough for it to be Aiden. Reluctantly he drags himself out of bed, sweats and all, and when he opens the door he’s surprised to see Lydia standing there. She doesn’t even wait for an invite before she’s walking in.

“Um, _hey?_ ”

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“You knocked on my door. I don’t think you would’ve liked it if I left you out there.”

“You left your books,” she states and that’s when he sees his stuff in her hands and his bag on her back. It looks a little out of place with her dress and heels. He can’t imagine the last time Lydia Martin actually used a back pack, but when she did it was probably very stylish and designer.   

“And you were actually nice enough to bring them all the way here? And I thought you didn’t like me.”  

Lydia looks over her shoulders at him and gives a slight smile before rolling her eyes, “I don’t _know_ you. It’s a very distinct difference.” 

Stiles has a series of questions swimming through his head about that, but Lydia’s already knitting her eyebrows together and placing her hands on her hips, “So are you going to invite me back to your room or what?” she asks, “And whatever stupid sex comment you’re thinking about making, it would behoove you to keep it to yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m much too gentlemanly for that,” he lies. Stiles had ten thousand witty comments about taking a girl back to his room running through his mind before she even finished her question. If nothing else, he’s always been a serious smart ass.   

“Oh really?”

“Yes and as a gentleman, I should probably warn you that my room still has some unpacked boxes in it.”

But she’s already walking down the hallway, “I didn’t ask you that.”

Stiles walks ahead and opens the door for her. It isn’t particularly messy. He hasn’t really had a chance to make it messy yet because he hasn’t unpacked his stuff. He made his bed, arranged his shoes and started hanging up some shirts and pants but not much else. The only other thing he has out is two pictures. One’s of him, his mom and his dad at a park when he was really young. The other is of him and Brittany at a movie release party…before the whole drugs thing.   

“I’m not usually this unorganized,” he says leaning against the doorway, “I plan on getting to the rest of it this weekend.”  

Lydia nods, curiously looking around. She stops right in front of the pictures on his nightstand, leaning forward to see them better. “Who’s this?” she asks and oddly enough, that’s the nicest tone he’s ever heard her take.  

“Brittany? She’s my girlfriend.”

“No Stiles. I don’t live under a rock. I know who Brittany Blackwood is. In the other picture, the woman.”

Stiles walks over, leaning towards the pictures with her. “That’s my mom.”

“She’s pretty,” and yeah, Stiles thinks so too. This picture was taken before everything got bad. His mother was always pretty, but in this picture she was stunning. She had chestnut brown hair and smile that literally lit up rooms. His father would tell you every day that he had no idea what she saw in him when she could have any man she wanted, but he was blessed to have been given a chance with her.

“Yeah, she was,” he replies and Lydia glances over at him briefly. The fact that he said ‘was’ is not lost on her.

“You look a lot like her.”

She sees him begin to frown for a second and she hopes she hasn’t upset him, but then and he’s sticking his hands in his pockets and recomposing himself. He has slight smile on his face when he jokes, “So you think I’m pretty?”   

He’s trying to distract from the conversation at hand and she can respect that. It’s none of her business and if he wanted to talk about it, he would. Then again, whatever it is, she could probably just Google it.

“I think you’re an idiot,” she quips and he seems to appreciate the fact that she didn’t push it. She turns around, facing the room in its entirety and pulls together her lips. “I’m honestly surprised to see that you don’t have a thousand autographed pictures of your own face hanging up all over the walls.”  

“You think I’m conceited enough to do something like that?”

“I wouldn’t have been _surprised_ , but like I said, I don’t know you. Not well, not yet. I only know what I’ve seen on magazine covers or on TV.”

Stiles eyebrows rise up, “ _Yet_? Does that imply that you want to get to know me?”

“That implies that I feel like I’m going to be seeing a lot you, at least if you’re roommates with Scott.” Stiles looks at her skeptically, ready to call her out on that cop out, but he doesn’t because he knows that they both know she doesn’t _dislike_ him. She might be indifferent, but he’s starting to get the feeling she just acts this way towards _everybody_. He wonders if maybe he should be flattered. Stiles thought he was going to come here and people would kiss his ass to the point of it being irritating, and yeah there are some of those kids on campus like at the party, but so far at least Scott and his friends are cool if not totally unconcerned about his celebrity.

There’s another knock at his door and suddenly Stiles remembers that he totally had Aiden coming over with his stuff. _Fuck_. What the hell is supposed to do with Lydia? How is he supposed to explain to her why Aiden’s over here? How is supposed to explain to Aiden why Lydia’s in his room?  

“Who’s that?” the red head asks curiously and all Stiles can think is _damn it_. He hadn’t thought this one through at all.

He checks his pockets for his wallet and shrugs, “I don’t know. You wait here and I’ll be right back.”  

He walks down the hall, checking over his shoulder multiple times just to make sure she’s not following him before he steps out into the hallway of the dorm. He doesn’t need her trailing behind him spying. Aiden smiles when he sees him come out and immediately closes the door behind him, checking over his shoulder one final time. “Don’t want your roommate to know what you’re doing?”  

Stiles doesn’t say anything, just pulls his wallet out and hands Aiden a hundred dollar bill. “Keep your mouth shut and keep the change.”

“Trying to pay me off?” he laughs and Stiles can’t stand how smug this asshole is. He hates feeling like someone has something he can hold over his head. This is different than buying drugs in Hollywood. In Hollywood, the dealers understand the privacy that comes with celebrity clients. This is high school and he’s a well-known figure. There is not privacy and if the wrong person found out what he was doing, he’d be kicked out. God only knows what his dad would do to him if that happened. The media would eat him alive

“No, I’m making sure we’re on the same page. You don’t say anything about me. I won’t say anything about you.” 

“What makes you think I’m afraid of that?”

“You approached _me_. If everyone knew what you were doing, I’d have heard about you eventually. This is a secret and you don’t want anyone who doesn’t need to know to know.” He’s pulling this out of his ass mostly, but he needs some type of insurance. He needs to know that this isn’t going to pop up on some tabloid blog tomorrow. His dad thinks he’s clean. He needs it to stay that way. It’s not like Stiles plans on letting this become a serious problem again. “Does _Lydia_ know?”

And _that_ looks like it strikes a nerve. Aiden’s face pales slightly and his eyebrows narrow as if he’s almost daring Stiles to do it.  

“You don’t tell anyone about me. I won’t tell _her_ about you.”

Aiden scowls but takes the money from Stiles anyway. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Here.”

He hands a plastic baggy filled with four small pills and an old school film canister he assumes is filled with his cough syrup. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he smiles as he shoves the bag into his pocket.  

Aiden rolls his eyes at first but then gives Stiles a condescending smile, “Yeah, yeah…same time next week?”

And now it’s Stiles’ turn to roll his…

X

“Who was at the door?” Lydia asks when he reenters his room a moment later. She’s sitting in his chair with her legs crossed at the ankles.  

Stiles realizes then that he never came up with a good lie to tell her so he just pulls one off the top of his head. You think being an actor, he’d be better at improvising. “Oh, it was nothing important. Just Isaac looking for Scott, but he’s not here.”  

Lydia nods and when she doesn’t say anything else, Stiles is pretty sure that she buys it. He takes a seat on his bed and isn’t sure what to say after that. He finds himself waiting for her to say something, _hoping_ that she’ll talk to him, which is something he isn’t used to. He’s used to people feeling that way about him, hoping that he’ll pay the slightest bit of attention to them. He’s never wanted for someone else’s attention…except maybe Brittany’s. It takes him a moment to snap out of it and stop acting like some star struck fan. If anyone should be enamored by the person sitting across from them, it should be _her_.  

“Can I ask you something?” he says and even though she doesn’t say yes or no, she raises her brow and he takes that an invitation. “What’s up with you and Aiden? Is he like your boyfriend?”

She smirks at first, before flipping her long red hair over her shoulder with a trite laugh, “Isn’t that your girlfriend’s picture right there on your nightstand?”

“Well, yeah. So?”

“So why the question about Aiden?” she’s got an almost sinfully playful tone. He imagines she’s used this tone to break a lot of hearts and condescend a lot of people over the years. “But if you have must know, _no_ , Aiden is not my boyfriend. Not that it was any of your business.”

He could take that and just accept it, but he’s always been a little too curious for his own good. He can’t help but continue to pry. He feels compelled to know. “So it’s not like serious or anything.”

She cocks her head to the side and intentionally smacks her lips, “No. It is not. We don’t go on dates or cuddle and watch movies together or hold hands in public or anything domestic like _that_. Does that answer your question or is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Clearly Stiles doesn’t catch the hint because as soon as she’s done, he’s asking, “Is that what you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, would like to go on dates and hold hand with him and stuff like that?”

She narrows her eyes, staring at him in a way that makes Stiles afraid he went too far for one of the first times in his life. “If I wanted it, I would have it. I don’t have it because I don’t want it.”

“Are you sure? I mean isn’t that what every girl wants?”

Lydia hasn’t yet changed her expression and Stiles knows he’s treading on thin ice but he’s never been the best at boundaries.

“Is that what you and your girlfriend do together? Because last time I checked, holding her hair back while she snorts coke up her nose doesn’t count as a loving relationship.”

His eyes go wide and he realizes now that he’s gone a too far, or maybe he went too far just by starting up this conversation anyway. “Lydia I didn’t…I…” and God, why does apologizing have to be so hard? First his dad, now her. He’s never had to say sorry this many times in such a short period, if ever.   

“You’re what Stiles, sorry? Don’t think that just because you’ve done a few movies and your dad is some A-list celebrity that you have any right to intrude into my life, or anyone else’s. You’re no better than anyone here, not even close. At least none of us have ever been to rehab.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just…”

He just what? He wants some girl he just met last week to be happy? He _cares?_ He doesn’t want her to get hurt? Not by her sketchy drug dealing boyfriend. _What?_ What the hell was he even thinking? They were doing okay until he opened his big, entitled mouth.

He takes a deep breath and tries to gather his thoughts into something that isn’t going to have him running with his tail between his legs the next time he sees her. “I don’t know you well, you’re right, but you seem too good for him. You just seem like you’re settling and I don’t know…I just feel like you deserve better.”

His legs shake nervously as he sits on his bed. It isn’t as if he’s never been asshole to anyone else before. He can’t even remember half the things he said when he was at clubs or parties, but he knows he threw his fair share of jabs and insults. Most times he’d wake up hung over, read about it all in some article, and never apologize but now he’s really hoping that he hasn’t ruined his relationship with Lydia by being himself.

He sees the cold stare melt from her face, replaced with an almost confused one. He can’t tell what she’s feeling and something tells him that she isn’t quite sure how to feel at this moment either. Her eyes are cast down and he sees her lips twitch, as if she had wanted to smile but pulled it back instead. He wonders if that’s a thing she does a lot? He wonders why he even cares?

Finally he lets out a long, anxious sigh, “We just met and already…God, was that weird?”

“Yeah,” and he appreciates the fact that she doesn’t lie, “But you’re kind of weird, so I guess I’m not surprised.” 

He nods silently, wishing he had more to say but he’s honestly tongue tied. Something tells him that even though he was trying not to fuck this entire encounter up, he did anyway. He’s pretty much confirmed in that thought when she stands up and uncomfortably brushes her hands against her skirt.

“I should probably go now.”

“Oh…yeah, um, let me wal—”

She puts her hands up, shutting him down entirely, “I can walk myself out. I shouldn’t have stayed so long anyway. Nurse McCall wanted you to rest.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…See you tomorrow?” he says and then totally regrets it afterwards. He hadn’t meant it like anything, just something to say, but it probably still sounds really eager and creepy nonetheless. What the hell is wrong with him? 

An awkward, ‘ _yeah, sure’_ is his only reply then she’s gone.

Suddenly the plastic baggy feels like lead weight in his pocket, and not in a good way. He can’t remember a time that he didn’t want to do drugs anymore after he’d bought them, but now would be the first. So he shoves the baggy in an empty desk drawer, out of his sight where the sudden feelings of guilt and regret can’t get to him before he lies down. Maybe some rest, rest _without_ the help of narcotics, will actually do him a little good for once? Or maybe it has nothing to do with rest and everything to do with Lydia Martin and the fact that he literally just made an ass of himself?

…but then again, it’s not like he’s never made an ass of himself before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. comment maybe? 
> 
> _Chp Title - "Coffee's for Closers" by Fallout Boy_


	8. Ain't it Fun Living in the Real World?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chp took forever! im sorry. I had this chp ending planned and then i realized it wasn't right yet, so i made this chp more of a filler! the next chp should be more interesting! 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who left kudos or commented! someone told me that this story seemed "irresponsible" and i loved that :D

It’s one thing to start the morning off with classes, but for that class to be Algebra II on top of that is just cruel and unusual.

He spent most of the night in his room unpacking. He’d tried the whole rest thing, but after about thirty minutes, he felt fidgety and couldn’t take lying still anymore. Maybe he should’ve popped an Ambien just to help him sleep, but he didn’t want to waste the drug on what it was _actually supposed to be used for_.   

The next morning Stiles trudges into his first classroom on maybe three good hours of sleep, with his backpack and a hoodie because he isn’t really trying today— _granted it’s a Saint Laurent hoodie and retails for the same price as rent on a New York City apartment_ —he still considers it one of his more _casual_ pieces. He searches the desks for a spot and God, there’s a bunch of eager eyes on him literally begging for him to take the open seat beside them. There’s a cute brunette in the third row making eyes at him, but when goes so far as the subtly hike her already short skirt and bite her lip, Stiles knows he wants _no part_ of that. She looks like the type of girl who would run her mouth whether they did something or not, and he doesn’t need that. He could have it if he wanted, but he’s got Brittany. It’s then that he spots that blonde chick from the party sitting by the window so he figures he’ll take the seat by her.  

“Hey…Evelyn right?” he asks as he slides into the desk.

_“Er-i-ca.”_

“Oh Erica, hey.”  

She smiles at him, leaning back in her desk and glancing around the room, “I think I just made at least thirteen new enemies because of you.”  

He follows suit and sees most of the other girls staring at Erica with nothing but hatred and disgust on their faces. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think it would be that serious but they look ready to kill.”  

Erica shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Somehow it seems to perfectly get across the fact that she could honestly give two fucks. He wonders how long it took her to perfect that art, because it really is an art. “They can _try,_ but I can handle myself.”

And Stiles doesn’t doubt that. She was a little more carefree at the party, and maybe that was the liquor, but now her entire demeanor is just screaming badass from her bold red lip and leather boots, to her ‘could care less’ expression. She looks as if she’s not one to be messed with. He’s about to reply when the teacher is making her way into the room just as the bell rings and everyone seems to shut up.

The teacher’s a dirty blond women with a tight body and legs to die for. “Morning class,” her voice is oddly sensual, deep but smooth like silk. He appreciates the fact that his schedule allows him at least one hot teacher per day. She looks around the room, but locks eyes when she gets to him, an almost mischievous smile grazing her lips.

She walks towards his desk, placing her hands on the edge and leaning in just a little, “And you’re Stiles, am I right?” He nods, speechlessly, because he can’t seem to form words when he can see right down his teacher’s shirt.

“I’ve seen some of your father’s work,” she adds, before whispering, “ _And you’re just as handsome._ ” 

Correct him if he’s wrong, which he’s generally not, but he’s almost positive she’s flirting with him. His jaw almost drops because _holy shit_ , isn’t this like every teenage boy’s fantasy? Not that his life isn’t great, what with the money and the fame and all.

She stands back up, addressing the room when she says, “Well welcome to the class Stiles. I’m Ms. Argent and I hope you enjoy yourself in Algebra II this year.”

He raises an eyebrow at the name and Erica leans in, “She’s Allison’s aunt…but they’re nothing alike. You don’t want anything to do with _this_ Argent.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he whispers back.

Erica shrugs back, with a look that suggests this is the last thing she’s going to say about it, “Look I don’t know, but all I’m saying is that if the rumors are true, she’s definitely trouble.”  

And Stiles really wants to know what rumors, but suddenly Erica’s attention is focused on the lesson and he doesn’t get the chance to ask.

X

He doesn’t really like school, but if asked, Stiles would say he doesn’t mind history much. It never changes and he appreciates that.  

The class is taught by a man named Mr. Yukimura and he seems cool enough. He didn’t make it his mission to embarrass Stiles with an introduction, instead choosing to welcome him personally right before class. If anything, the guy seems more intent on humiliating his own daughter, _a girl named Kira who’s also new this year_ , than he does anybody else.

They’re doing a partner worksheet when Stiles tries to ask Scott about Ms. Argent. All he got from Erica was a foundation and he can’t help but be curious about the woman. She is going to be teaching him math all year after all. Plus she was totally coming onto him. Yeah, he’s not interested in other girls but maybe he’d like to keep a teacher in his back pocket just in case something ever did happen between him and Brittany.

“Do you have Ms. Argent for algebra?” he attempts to ask and Scott doesn’t even look at him. He wonders if maybe Scott just didn’t hear him so he tries again. “Hey, dude, I’m trying to ask you a question about math. Who do you have…are you even listening?”

His reply is a faint, ‘hmm?’, and Stiles finds himself having to kick Scott’s chair and wave his hand in his face to get his attention. Suddenly the other boy is looking at him, wide-eyed and confused. “Huh? What?”

“I asked you a question. What the hell were you looking at?” 

Scott’s face turns red and Stiles slowly looks over his shoulder, seeing the culprit—t _he teacher’s daughter._ It would be kind of adorable if it wasn’t keeping Stiles from getting the answers to his question.“Got a crush, do we?”

“That obvious?”

“Only when you stare at her from across the classroom and ignore everyone else,” he offers, before adding, “Why don’t you just go talk to her? Or ask her to do this worksheet with us or something a little less creepy?”

“I haven’t actually talked to her before. Besides, Allison and I haven’t…we’ve only been apart for the Summer. I don’t know how she would-I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

Stiles has to stifle his laugh as he thinks back to the other day at lunch. He definitely hasn’t forgotten the talk he had with Isaac about his own crush. There’s something more going on there between Scott’s best friend and his ex, even if Scott himself doesn’t know. At least in Hollywood there’s less room for surprises what with paparazzi and tabloids and TV. When people started dating or hooking up, everyone’s bound to know about it. There weren’t as many secrets. Everything came out eventually.

“You should go for it. Allison seems cool. Something tells me that she definitely won’t mind.”

Scott still looks a little skeptical, but then he turns back to Kira and gives a slight wave. She looks around the room before pointing at her chest as if to say ‘who me?’ Scott nods and she waves back, the reddest blush sweeping over her face.  

Stiles can’t help but grin to himself. At least somebody’s love life is functioning normally.  

XXX

Coach Finstock is nothing if not an _eccentric_ character. Stiles thinks he might actually _like_ this teacher.

When he introduces himself, Finstock has no idea who the hell he is, doesn’t seem to care either. When another kid tries to tell him that Stiles is not only the son John Stilinski, but also an actor himself, Finstock replies ‘the only movie I’ve seen recently is training day and I intend to keep it that way’.   

He teaches economics, which is mostly just a bunch of strange anecdotes and jabs thrown at some kid in the back row— _Greenbriar or something_ —with the occasional economics vocabulary word thrown in. Scott’s sitting beside him, which is also a plus. For the most part, he thinks he’ll like this class…well except for the fact that fucking Ethan of all people is sitting two rows away from him. 

He’s had his eye on Stiles all class. There’s no doubt in his mind that Aiden told him about the purchase he made yesterday. He’s probably been waiting all class period to throw it in his face. With ten minutes left in class, Coach declares that he’s done and Stiles turns towards Scott, immediately intending to ask him about the Kate thing when a scent grazes his nose.

“Holy shit, do I smell _Armani?_ ”  

The kid sitting in front of Scott turns around. He’s tan, exotic like, with dark hair and huge dimples. “I think you’re smelling my aftershave,” he says with a flattered smile.

“This is Danny,” Scott informs him, “He’s on the lacrosse team. Danny, this is Stiles. He’s new.” 

Danny nods, “Yeah, I know who you are.”

“Well it’s nice to meet someone with some good taste around here,” Stiles adds. He doesn’t shave himself, but he does know the scent. He knows it well actually, almost better than he’d like. His father still uses it because his mother always enjoyed the smell. His dad had a killer scent collection but Armani was always one of her favorites. It’s reminiscent of home, but almost unwanted at the same time.

Danny’s about to open his mouth to respond, when suddenly a hand pops up on his shoulder, “Make a new _friend_?” Funny how there’s nothing friendly about the implication.

Stiles looks up along with everyone else to see Ethan, because of course. He buys drugs _one time…_

“Yeah, this is Stiles. He was the guy in that movie we watched a couple weeks ago. Stiles this is Ethan, my-”

“His _boyfriend_ ,” the twin finishes.

“Oh cool,” is all he replies because he isn’t sure what else to say. It’s not like he was hitting on Danny. Dude just has really good taste in cologne, and he’s pretty sure Danny wasn’t interested in him…at least he doesn’t think. Then again, he’s not really sure how that sort of thing works or if he’s even attractive to gay guys….he’d be flattered if he was though.

Stiles notes the look of confusion on Danny’s face though. He seems more surprised by the statement than Stiles. “How long have you two been dating?” he asks.

“Yeah Ethan, how long?” Danny mimics, crossing his arms and looking up. The expression on Danny’s face tells Stiles he might just enjoy this little domestic squabble.

Ethan doesn’t even seem fazed though, “It’s a _recent_ thing.” The way he’s looking at Stiles makes it feel like he’s marking his territory, like a dog or something. But he doesn’t have to. Danny is fine. Stiles has a girlfriend, _really_. Like does nobody trust him? He’s done a lot of shit, but he’s never cheated on Brittany. Besides, he isn’t interested in anything of Ethan’s unless it happens to be illegal and high inducing. He really doesn’t even like the guy.

“Well…congratulations,” he offers, just as the bell rings. When Ethan and Danny seem out of earshot, Stiles turns to Scott, “What was that about? I just liked his cologne.”    

Scott just laughs, “Ethan was probably just making sure you didn’t like anything _else_.”  

Stiles makes a face as he picks his books up off his desk, “Did I come off like that? Did I sound like I was hitting on him?”

“I don’t know, _were you_ hitting on him?” Scott asks slyly. He doesn’t even wait for an answer as he walks out. Stiles runs out behind him, practically nipping at his heels.

“I don’t… _no_ , I don’t think so. Wait, was he hitting on me? Do you think I’m attractive to gay guys?” Scott just laughs but Stiles isn’t kidding. He yells it again as Scott walks down the crowded hallway. “Scott, I’m serious, _do you think I’m attractive to gay guys?_ ” 

He doesn’t think Scott even hears him but pretty much everyone else seems to. He looks around receiving several snickers and even a wink from a guy at his locker…and fuck…dear God he hopes this doesn’t end up on TMZ tomorrow.

X

His last class is psychology with a teacher named Mr. Deucalion. What the hell kind of name is that? The schedule doesn’t even provide a first name. It literally just says Deucalion, he added the surname himself. Stiles figures he just won’t ask. It’s not like he cares, sometimes he’s just curious about things like that—things that don’t belong.  

He walks in and tries to subtly find a seat in the back where he hopes to not be bothered but he can see other kids looking at him over their shoulders. He’ll be happy when the buzz starts to wear off of him. High school isn’t like Hollywood. He isn’t sure how much he wants to stand out here, if at all. It’s not that he wants to run from the spotlight…it’s just, it’s different when everyone around you isn’t “high-profile” too. He doesn’t like the idea of having to walk on eggshells for the next two years, trying not to fuck up and get expelled or disappoint his dad or something. It would take too much effort, more than he’s willing to put out.  

As he sits there, he watches the door wondering if anybody he might recognize is going to walk in. It’s not like he knows a lot of people, mostly Scott’s friends, but he likes _most of_ Scott’s friends so far. They seem a lot more down to earth than most of the other thirsty students who stare at him as if he’s a prize to be won instead of a person. Granted that person isn’t exactly the nicest, but he still meets the basic qualifications of a person nonetheless.  

Of course the first person he sees is Isaac. He’d made it through his entire schedule without a single mutual class and then _boom_. The taller male rolls his eyes, but still proceeds to take a seat beside Stiles. He doesn’t complain. A few moments later Lydia files in and joins them. Stiles finds himself tensing up as she sits in front of him. The night before flashes into his mind and he feels embarrassed all over again, when usually he wouldn’t even care. He glances over at her and he swears he sees her looking at him, but when they meet eyes, she turns her face and flips her hair, making as if she’d never even been looking in his direction. She feigns non chalance so well, for a second he almost believes it; but he doesn’t get a chance to call her out on it. The teacher, a slender blonde man, walks in, essentially killing the moment. Almost immediately Stiles notes the cane and sunglasses he has on. Holy shit, is this dude blind?

“Afternoon class,” the teacher says. Stiles looks curiously for anything else that might confirm his suspicion. “I hear we have a new student today, a Mr. Stilinski? Welcome to class. I am Deucalion, just Deucalion. Would you mind standing for a moment so that I may identify you?”

Stiles narrows his eyes, but slowly slides out of his desk. So maybe he was wrong…

“As I’m sure you are wondering, yes, I am legally blind, but that doesn’t mean I can’t completely see. I just do not see _very well_. However, don’t think that this means you will be able to get away with anything in here that you may not get away with in any of your other classes. You respect me, I will respect you. You may be seated.”

Stiles isn’t sure what to say to that, he’s kind of speechless. It was definitely the most _interesting_ introduction he’s gotten so far.  

“Does anyone want to review what we talked about in last period’s substance abuse lecture?”

Immediately Lydia answers, “We were talking about the effects of different drugs on the brain and in one’s everyday life.” There’s a smug tone to her voice that Stiles is starting to realize might actually be the actual tone to her voice.

She even glances over at him. He bets she, _and everyone else in here with him_ , is probably eating this shit up. He rolls his eyes. It’s like ever since that night with the car, his life is like a walking PSA. Somehow everywhere he goes, someone is shoving ‘why he shouldn’t do drugs’ down his throat. Like damn, he gets it already. Doesn’t mean anything, but he’d like to stop hearing about it.

“Yes, and which drug did we leave off on?” Mr. Deucalion asks. He’s sure Lydia is about to answer this question too, but before she can, the door to the room is opening and a student is walking in with a yellow slip of paper in their hand.

“Excuse me, but Stiles Stilinski is needed in the nurses’ office.”

Unaware of the fact that he was holding his breath, he lets out a sigh of relief. Good, because he didn’t want to be here listening to this shit anyway, not when everybody in the room knows he just got out of rehab for being on almost every drug they’re about to discuss. Half of the students will silently be judging him, while the other half will probably wish they were there with him. He doesn’t want to sit through any of it.

“Well, Mr. Stilinski get on then.”

Stiles gets up eagerly, squirming out of his desk and heading towards the door. As if someone would have to tell him twice to get out of class. He takes the familiar walk towards the nurses’ office, lagging as much as possible to waste time. When he arrives, the door is open, so he takes that as his invitation to walk inside. Ms. McCall is already waiting for him.

“Hey,” he waves awkwardly. Suddenly all the excitement he felt walking down the hallway is gone now that’s he’s actually here. ‘Here’ being in front of the woman who told him she was keeping an eye on him for his father yesterday, “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” she responds from behind her desk. She sets a manila folder down on her desk, “I wanted to check on you and make sure you were doing alright today. How are you feeling?”

Stiles shrugs, “Better I guess? I mean it’s not like I’ve never felt dizzy before.” Ms. McCall makes a face and he kind of regrets saying that. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable or anything, but he knows she knows exactly what he meant by that statement. He wants to take it back or rephrase it but it’s already slipped out.  

 “Well regardless, you have to make sure that you’re careful, especially now that you’re no longer being monitored twenty-four seven, like you were in…well in rehab,” her lips curl in after the last word and Stiles can feel the discomfort level rising slightly. She’s trying not to hurt his feelings and he wonders if this is a thing he’s going to be going through a lot more as he re-assimilates into the world. After an awkward silence, she sighs, “I just…you know I promised your dad I’d look after you?”

“Yeah…I was kind of surprised I didn’t get a call from him last night worrying about me. You didn’t tell him?” He asks nervously. He hopes he isn’t giving her any idea. The last thing he wants is his dad calling him and freaking out or making assumptions as to why he almost passed out yesterday. He’d probably just threaten to send him back to rehab without even hearing the full story.   

Melissa shakes her head, her voice manages to be warm and comforting, easing Stiles down some, “No, I didn’t. _Should I?_ ” 

“N-no, I’m fine. I just…my first day and I’m already in the nurses’ office. I just thought…” He’s not sure why he even cares honestly. It’s not like he was ever afraid of anyone calling his dad before. There were several times, not even a year ago, when he stumbled in the home completely plastered or was even escorted home by agents, managers, family friends. He can’t tell if its Ms. McCall or this ‘new start’ he’s supposed to have here, but he’s a little worried about his dad hearing anything but good news, especially from this woman of all people. She just oozes sincere vibes, just like her son.  

“Stiles, I don’t think there was any need to alarm your dad on your first day, do you? It was just a small incident, nothing I think we needed to get him worked up about, _right?_ ”

It takes him a second to understand but then he’s nodding his head in agreement. There isn’t any need to make a big deal out of something like a slight dizzy spell. Nothing sketchy was involved, although Mr. Hale’s PE regimen might need to be called into question—because seriously, _who can actually run like that?_  

“Good. So if you’re okay with it, then I think this one is okay staying between you, me, and your school medical file,” she smiles from her desk. It’s maternal and warm. It’s been a while since he felt something like that. “Just make sure to continue to take it easy and try and ease your way into this transition okay? I know at first it might be a little overwhelming, or maybe even _underwhelming_ honestly, but if you ever need anything you know where to find me.”

He gives her a faint smile back just before he exits her office, a little relief waving over him. It’s nice to have someone in his back pocket here, an adult. Mr. Hale was cool yesterday to let him out of detention but Ms. McCall seems nice and he likes the sense of security she gives him. It’s like her knowing his father brings a small piece of home here to this shitty, mundane, middle of nowhere town. Stiles knows he’ll definitely be seeing more of her if for no other reason than she sort of reminds him of what it feels like to have a mom again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! expect to find out about Kate next chp, though im sure you can guess part of her back story already :) and of course more excitement and more stiles/lydia moments of course! 
> 
> _Chp title- "Aint it fun" by Paramore_


	9. Don't Mind Me, I'm Watching you Two from the Closet, Wishing to be the Friction in your Jeans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long! that was my bad. But still, thanks for all the kudos and things on the story and I hope you continue to read it!   
> enjoy the intro to the kate/derek background story and well as some good ol' stydia moments as well :)

“Finally,” Stiles says, sitting up on the couch as the door pushes open. The school day’s only been over for about thirty or forty minutes but Stiles rushed straight back to the dorm hoping to catch Scott and avoid the masses of other teenagers. Turns out, he just spent the majority of his time lying on the couch, anticipating the sound of a key in the door like a lonely puppy. It was kind of pathetic really, but he liked Scott. He didn’t mind waiting for Scott. If there was anybody decent on this campus, it was him. “I’ve been waiting for you since school let out.”

Scott smiles as he locks the door, “Aw I’m flattered, what’s up?”  

With a more serious tone in his voice, Stiles sits up, “ _Kate Argent_ , the algebra teacher. What do you know about her?”

Scott leans against the door, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Stiles isn’t sure if that’s a good eyebrow or a bad one. “Why?”

“I think she hit on me today, _like don’t quote me on that or anything_ , but I think she did. Not that I’m interested, I don’t think— _not the point_. Point _is_ , Erica sort of warned me about her, said something about rumors. I’m just curious as to what those rumors are.”    

Stiles waits anxiously, watching Scott’s face form a slight frown. The eyebrow must’ve been a bad one. “Well from what I remember and what I’ve heard my mom say, rumor is that when she first started teaching here like eight or ten years ago, she was sleeping with one of the students.”

“Are you serious? Is that like a thing she’s into?” And seriously though, what the hell is this school? His dad thought he was sending out of town to get ‘ _away from all the bad influences and temptations_ ’ and whatever else but this school is starting to sound more and more dodgy by the day. “Sounds like one lucky student.”

Scott shrugs, “Yeah, you would think, but I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What do you mean? Do you know the guy?”  

“Yeah, so do you. Everybody in this town does.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow because he’s only met so many people on campus. Nobody he can think of is old enough to have been here back then. That’s gross, leaving ephebofile territory and crossing into straight pedophilia.  

“Rumor is, that it was Mr. Hale.”  

“No way? Physical education Mr. Hale?” Stiles asks, his eyes going wide. He even finds himself scooting to the edge of the couch a little. Mr. Hale? Stiles only spent like an hour with the guy and he can already tell he’s an uptight jerk with his panties in a perpetual bunch. You think he would be a nicer guy considering. How many kids out here could say they were lucky enough to sleep with the hot teacher back when they were in school?  

“Yeah. Nobody really talks about it much anymore, but my mom always says it was pretty big gossip back when it happened.”  

“Wait, so if people know, why isn’t she in jail or anything? How is that she still works here and now he works here?”

“Like I said, it was a rumor. Nobody could ever really _prove_ it. My mom said Principal Hale suspended Mrs. Argent pending investigation but before anything could happen there was that big fire in the office that killed several Hales. Since there wasn’t really any evidence and Derek Hale never really came forward, it died down. Then Kate Argent’s dad was hired on as principal, he unsuspended Kate and it all just sort of fizzled out after that. Mr. Argent was principle for a couple years, he retired because he got cancer or something and Dr. Deaton didn’t fire her when he took over so here she is still. There haven’t been any rumors since…but you say she hit on you?”

“Vaguely. She leaned on my desk during class so I could intentionally see down her shirt. Plus she whispered in my ear and told me I was attractive. Maybe I read too much into it but I feel like I was definitely feeling some attraction vibes there.”  

Scott shrugs, “I’m not going to tell you yes or no because I don’t know. All I’m gonna say is be careful. Fantasizing about having sex with your teacher and actually having sex with your teacher are two totally different things.”

“Who said I was fantasizing? I never said I was fantasizing,” he defends but Scott just laughs.

“You didn’t have to.”

X

Stiles literally finishes off the week without any word from his girlfriend. He knows she’s filming but damn. They always used to find a way to make time for each other, even if was just to do a line and have a quickie in one of their trailers. She could find five minutes in her day to call him or at least answer a freaking text from time to time.

Doesn’t she care how his first week went? She’s supposed to be his best friend. He wants to tell her about his dorm and the people he’s met; about his teachers—like basket case Finstock, or Harris who he’s pretty sure officially hates him for getting out of detention on Monday…but he can’t get so much as a ‘ _fuck you_ ’ from Brittany, let alone an _actual_ conversation.

He just doesn’t get it.

X  

“I know how you feel about her dad, but it’s just one thing okay? You don’t have to talk to her, but if you could ask around for me, make sure everything’s okay and I’m not freaking out?” 

As much as he knows his father hates Brittany, he knows his father cares about him and if Stiles is serious, John will at least take his requests into consideration. He just wants to know that everything is alright between him and Brittany, that maybe she’s just insanely busy or something. He tried calling her home, her manager, her associates. He even tried emails but still nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was being purposely ignored _, maybe he didn’t have the same pull he had before he went to rehab_ , or if it was something else entirely. Even he couldn’t believe he’d gotten desperate enough to ask his dad for help, considering the one time his dad felt he should’ve, he didn’t.

“I’ll see what I can do Stiles, but I’m not really sure if I’m the best person to ask. Did you two have any mutual friends you could contact, somebody who might be more in that loop?” 

Stiles tries to think for a moment, racking his mind. He feels like it shouldn’t be this hard to think off someone but he knows why it is. “I ugh…I don’t think I actually have any friends, except for Brittany.”  

He can’t legitimately think of one. Before he dated her, sure he had some other kids he used to hang out with but once he started dating Brittany those friendships just sort of fizzled off into obscurity. They weren’t into the same things Stiles was suddenly into. He vividly remembers now that everyone they hung out with was either an associate of Brittany, the drug dealer they were buying from or just some random socialite tweaker at whatever random party they were at. He would constantly get messages inviting him to parties but not once had any of those same people bothered to call and ask how his day was, see if he wanted to grab some lunch, or even asked how he was doing in rehab. He’d literally isolated himself from any possibilities of friendship.

“I was pretty cool with some of our dealers though,” Stiles offers, attempting to change the subject. He already knows the look of horror his dad is probably sporting on the other line.

“ _No_ , no, do not call any of them! In fact, lose all of their numbers.”  

He laughs slightly and tells his John he was kidding, before he notices Scott standing in his doorway.  

“Hey dad, I have to go. I love you. Call me if you hear anything?” After a moment he ends the call and turns towards his roommate, “What’s up?”

“Sorry about that, you didn’t have to end the phone call,” he starts. Stiles just waves it off casually. After spending some time with Scott, he’s starting to realize that compassion is just sort of in the guy’s nature and there no point in trying to convince him that it’s not a problem. “Erica called me a couple of minutes ago, said there’s supposed to be a rave tonight. Sounds like everyone is going, you want to come with?”   

Stiles makes a face. He’s been to a few raves before. They can be pretty fun—if you’re hyped on Ecstasy and other psychedelic drugs. He’s not really sure if he’ll have fun doing a sober rave. He’s having trouble enjoying being sober _at all_. Besides, after the first party they went to, Scott ended up babysitting him as he tossed his shit into the toilet bowl.

“ _I don’t…_ ”

“Come on, get dressed,” and Scott flashes that encouraging smile, the one that makes Stiles feel like he can trust him with his life and then some. “I’m pretty much forcing you, as my _friend_.”   

And for a second, Stiles is flattered, but then he wonders just how long his roommate was standing in the doorway. Was Scott listening to the conversation he was having with his dad? He doesn’t need anyone to try and boost him up to make him feel better about his situation. So unlike most kids his ages, he lacks genuine friendships, whatever. He doesn’t need friends, or anyone to lie about it.

It’s just…Scott doesn’t strike him as much of a liar.

X  

Stiles stares out the window of Scott’s car as Beacon Hills slowly gets harder and harder to see through the side mirrors. He’s not really sure why he agreed to this, other than Scott seemed to want him to go. Stiles can’t figure out why Scott, even after finding out he went to rehab and experiencing his drinking first hand, still has any faith in him. Yeah, Stiles loves himself and all, but even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to put any eggs in his own basket.

“So,” he says after a moment. He’s getting a little anxious, not because of the party, but because he’s itching to smoke a cigarette. It’s hard to find times to do it on campus, except really late at night. He’ll be happy to be somewhere he can just do it out in the open; but until then, he needs to focus his mind on something else. “Where’s Isaac? I mean, isn’t he usually following you like a lost puppy?”

Scott doesn’t laugh, but Stiles does see one side of his lips curl upwards, “He said he had a ride.”  

Stiles rolls his eyes. He can only guess _what kind of ride_ Isaac has and who from, but he doesn’t feel like it’s his place to say anything about it. He just wonders when Isaac _is?_   

X

The rave is what he expected for the most part. It’s a little grungier than Stiles was imagining, a lot less _Hollywood_. It’s in a big warehouse. The music is loud and really electronic. There’s a lot of glow sticks and sweaty young adults dancing.  

“Do you see anyone?” Scott asks and honestly Stiles hadn’t really been looking. He wasn’t even sure who he should be looking for.

“No. I’m gonna find a drink and somewhere to smoke.”

Scott takes the sleeve of his jacket in his fist and Stiles fights the urge to complain about damaging the fabric and pushing his hand off. “No drinks. Smoking is okay I guess, but do you really want to end up hunched over the toilet again tonight? Maybe try going it sober?”

 _‘Isn’t being drugless sober enough?’_ he thinks, softly pulling his arm away, “I’m not making you any promises.”   

He doesn’t stick around to see Scott’s face, but he’s sure it isn’t a particularly pleased one. It’s just, he doesn’t really want to be limited should he feel the urge to drink…and if he’s being honest, he gets that urge pretty often.   

He proceeds through the crowd without being recognized fairly easily. It’s too dark and full of people mushing together for anyone to bother to really notice him. Within a few minutes he finds a glass door in the back that leads to an enclosed area outside. There are a few tables and benches scattered around. He can smell the nicotine as he slips through the door and doesn’t hesitate to light up his own cigarette as he leans against a wall. The first puff filling his lungs literally tastes so close to heaven he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. When he opens them again, he’s faced with two eager girls and a marker.

“I can’t believe Stiles Stilinski is at this rave! Will you sign our shirts?” one of them asks and the marker is shoved into his free hand before he can say yes or no.  

He ends up signing their shirts and the various items of at least four other people outside before he gets to take another hit of his cigarette.  

“ _Looks like you’re a pretty popular guy._ ”  

When he looks over to see who’s addressing him, his eyes land on a kid about his age with black hair. He isn’t particularly memorable, except for the expensive looking camera swinging around his neck.  

“Comes with the territory I guess. Nice camera.”

The kid’s eyes widen up as he takes the camera in his hands, looking surprised, as if he wasn’t even aware it was around his neck. “Thanks. I just got a new telephoto lens I’ve been trying out actually. You familiar with cameras?”  

Stiles takes a long drag, holding it in as he replies, “Not really, unless there are mobs of them blinding me by flashing in my face. “

“Not all flashes are as-”

“Jesus Matt, nobody is interested in hearing about how cameras work or your new _fancy lens_ ,” And over his shoulder Stiles sees Jackson, Danny, and a few lacrosse players making their way outside, drinks in hand.  

“Fuck off Jackson. Don’t forget I still have copies of that tape you made the time you borrowed said camera,” Matt counters, shoving past the crowd.

Stiles is wondering what kind of tape when Danny discreetly leans into his ear, “ _Sex tape_ ,” he informs, “At least that’s what Matt claims.” Stiles can’t help but laugh to himself a little, because who bothered to make something as ordinary as a sex tape anymore? And who would borrow someone else’s camera to do it? 

He takes the last pull from his square, tosses the butt and makes his way back into the rave. Searching around the room, the first thing he looks for is somewhere that he can get liquor, of any kind really. He doesn’t see any bars but he begins walking around the crowd in hopes of finding something.

He doesn’t bump into a bar, but he does bump right into a girl leaning against a wall in the back. She has her back turned but Stiles immediately recognizes her and her friend. “Allison? Lydia?”   

“Hey!” Allison smiles. Lydia turns and offers him more of look than an actual greeting. He’s surprised to see them so distanced from everybody else.  

“What are you guys doing over here?”  

Slowly Allison holds up a bottle about half of its contents missing. It looks like a whiskey bottle, but the liquid is pink. “Drinking,” she answers, “You want some?”  

Before he can answer yes or no, even though the answer is definitely yes, she’s pushing the bottle into his hands. “I’m going to go find Isaac, you two finish that off.”  

He looks between the bottle and Lydia, whose arms are folded across her chest in annoyance. He’s not sure if that’s directed more towards him or Allison, but he isn’t about to let it deter him from attempting to enjoy himself. If anything this is the perfect time to forget about the fact that he hasn’t heard from Brittany. So he undoes the cap from the bottle and takes a healthy swig. It doesn’t burn nearly as bad as most liquors do going down and it’s sweet. Yeah it looks a little feminine, but good liquor is good liquor and he likes it. He then passes the bottle to Lydia, who takes it despite the minor attitude she’s sporting.  

“What’s got you panties in a bunch?” he asks. Anything would be better than standing here silently ignoring each other. He just hopes it’s been enough time for the awkwardness of the other day in his room to have passed. He feels embarrassed again just thinking about it.

Lydia raises a perfectly manicured brow at first, pulling the bottle down from her lips. He thinks maybe he’s going to get some sort of smart ass remark, but instead she points a little into the distance where Stiles can clearly see Aiden and a small group of other guys getting particularly _friendly_ with a few girls.   

“If you don’t want your boyfriend talking to other girls, why don’t you just go fetch him?” 

“I already told you, he’s _not_ my boyfriend, but I didn’t give him a ride here just for him to ignore me the entire night. Honestly, if I wanted to go to a rave I’d get in a time machine and go back to the _nineties_.”  

“Well sorry to say, it’s two-thousand fourteen and you’re at a rave. Trust me standing here staring at him isn’t going to help. Come on, we can finish this somewhere else.” He offers his hand to pull her through the crowd and she stares down at it skeptically at first, but after one more quick glance over her shoulder she grabs his sleeve and follows him. He takes her outside and leads her to the furthest bench he can find, one where hopefully he won’t be bothered by more people asking him for an autograph.   

Stiles watches as she takes another drink from the bottle, seeming almost bitter as she does. He’s sure she can hold her own with a bottle, but for some reason he still feels the need to monitor her, make sure she’s careful. He knows from experience that ironically enough, drinking because you’re mad at someone else never seems to spite anyone but yourself and he doesn’t want her to do that. It’s a new feeling honestly. When he and Brittany drank together, the main objective used to be making sure they both got as drunk as possible, no regards for things like each other’s feelings or safety.

“Oh my God, w _hat?_ ” she finally asks, handing the bottle over.  

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You were staring, and your interrogatory expression is getting on my nerves.”  

“I just…I ugh…” And r _eally_? He’s pretty sure he sounds like an idiot at this point, trying to organize his thoughts.

“Look, I don’t need your _I told you so’s_ or anything like that okay? You think I’m selling myself short with him, you told me before, I get it. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to drink a little and brood about it. Can you handle that?”   

He nods just as he pulls from the bottle, because he’s definitely going to need a little more alcohol in his system for this. “I wasn’t judging or anything,” he offers and Lydia immediately shoots him down with a set of puckered lips and a sideways glance, “I swear, I just…I’m kind of dealing with _similar_ problems and I know the feeling is all.”  

“Is your _not_ -boyfriend an insensitive, semi-misogynistic jerk too?”  

“No, my _real_ girlfriend, is currently is also acting as if I don’t exist for some reason that I haven’t quite figured out yet.”  

Lydia offers a brief sympathetic expression before removing the bottle from his hands, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too, but if I spend all night thinking about it, sooner or later somebody’s gonna notice and I’ll find myself at a rave, drinking outside with some guy I don’t seem to like so…”  

Her cheeks flash pink before she glances away, her mind probably still wandering back to Aiden as he watches her wrap her arms around herself. It is a little colder tonight, and considering Lydia seems to have some sort of hate campaign against pants, he can imagine how she’s feeling even though she hasn’t said anything.

“Here,” he pulls off his jacket, scooting closer to Lydia and draping it over her shoulders before she can protest, because he knows _she will_.  

“I’m not-”

“Yes you are. I can see it. Just take the jacket.” She counters with a glare but her expression soon softens and she’s sliding her arms through his too large jacket.  

They continue passing the bottle back and forth silently and it is surprisingly comfortable. He likes just sitting with her, enjoying a drink. It isn’t the most sophisticated way to enjoy one, sure, but for some reason it just feels right, like this is what it’s supposed to be at seventeen. Drinking with Brittany was always rushed and forced, like everything they did…it’s just…even though Brittany is ignoring him and he and Lydia are just friends—not even friends really, just friendly, or maybe _tolerant_ —why does spending time with her like this make him feel so guilty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again! 
> 
> _Chp Title - "Sugar, We're Going Down" by Fall Out Boy_


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